Vol 2: The Stars in Golden Guising
by the-casket-girls
Summary: 9 yrs ago, Aeron discovers that recovery is no simple matter; now, Hope is a woman on a mission to discover what's going on and kill everyone even remotely involved. ((Vol. 2 of "Oblivion Hymns"))
1. Prologue

**Le wild Vol. 2 appears!**

 **No, I don't know why I'm referencing ancient memes.**

 **Thanks go to J. Ace for beta reading, and credit goes to the band Hammock for the title of this series and the titles of individual acts. Volume titles drawn for the German nursery rhyme "The Moon Has Risen".**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

 ** _In the Nothing of a Night_**

 _Nine years ago …_

 _The man was High Fae with dark skin and angular cheekbones and long hair matted with blood. He was stretched between two pillars, bound with ropes laced with fae bane. For all the blood and bruises marring his skin he did not falter, did not slip as he stood proudly on both feet and stared down his tormentor._

" _Tyron here has a secret," said Amarantha, staring right back at her prisoner. She was dressed in a blue lace nightgown, her red hair tousled, but Aeron knew she hadn't been sleeping. She smelt like night, like a man he'd never seen, only ever scented on her. "It's a particularly juicy secret," she went on, "and he's rather determined not to tell me anything. But then, he doesn't have to say anything, does he, my Aeron?"_

 _Aeron kept his gaze on the prisoner, on the scattered wounds over his chest and arms. From the blood pooling at the back of him Aeron could only assume he'd been whipped, likely by the same whip so often used on Aeron himself when he disappointed his mother._

 _Amarantha gripped Aeron by the arm, her fingernails digging into his flesh like talons. "Does he, my Aeron?"_

My Aeron. _Never_ my son _or_ my child _._

" _No, my lady," said Aeron, his voice trembling._

 _Releasing her grip, Amarantha trailed her fingers up over Aeron's shoulder to cup the back of his neck as she leant in to whisper in his ear. "Do what you do best, pet."_

 _Aeron knew what happened next. He knew what came after, what decision he made. Part of him was conscious of that, of the inevitability of it all._

 _But he didn't want to._

" _No."_

 _The grip on the back of his neck turned painful. "What?"_

" _I won't do it. I won't go into his head," Aeron told his mother. "I refuse."_

 _Amarantha released him, pulling him around to face her. "Do you imagine," she hissed, "that refusing me will get you anywhere but in his place?"_

" _I don't care," said Aeron. "I'm not doing it. I won't hurt him for you."_

 _The world flashed and the prisoner was gone, Aeron bound in his place. Amarantha circled him, the whip now clutched in his hands. When she finally made her way around in front of him again she looked almost sympathetic. "Poor boy," she simpered. "My poor, poor baby."_

 _And then the whip fell across his face._

Aeron woke with a start, his arms outstretched on the bed as though still bound either side of him. He pulled them in close to himself, wrapping them around his knees as he curled up into a ball, closing his eyes and trying desperately to center himself.

When his breathing finally calmed enough for rational thought, Aeron was left with a terrible knowledge:

The dreams were getting worse.

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope would have killed to dream that night.

She was exhausted, in desperate need of sleep, but her mind refused to stop whirring as she lay in her makeshift home, back to the hard stone.

 _Pregnant._

It had been three days since the full moon, and she had hardly slept a wink. Eating had become a nightmare as she vomited at the sight of the blood of the animals she hunted. She also vomited upon waking, and when she ate berries, and sometimes when she stood up too fast. She was quickly approaching the point where the amount of acidic bile she was producing would strip her teeth of enamel. Her throat already burned with every breath.

She needed crackers, or something with ginger. She remembered when Aunt Keelin was pregnant, how Aunt Freya had run back and forth from the kitchens with crackers and ginger ale and anything her wife desired. Keelin had confided that morning sickness was difficult with wolves. At the time, Hope hadn't really absorbed the fact that this meant that her own pregnancy would be just as difficult if not worse.

Granted, she'd only been ten at the time, but still. It would've been nice to prepare herself a little more.

She knew she wouldn't last long out here by herself. She was starving, not just because her magic was scattered and she could hardly hunt without vomiting, but because everything she ate inevitably came back up again. Her tights were getting loose, and though she may not have known much about pregnancy she knew she wasn't supposed to have lost weight.

She needed help, and she needed it badly.

She just had no idea where to get it.

* * *

 **Yell at me on Tumblr flo-lore-writes.**


	2. Act I

**Thanks go to J. Ace for beta reading, as always. The entire character of Josie is dedicated to you, babe.**

* * *

ACT ONE

 _Dawn Begins to Creep_

 _Nine years ago …_

Nightmares left Aeron thirsty, unable to do anything about it for often up to an hour as he sat in bed, unmoving. By the time he was able to pull himself to his feet his mouth felt like gluey paper stuck to his tongue and his head was pounding.

It was a quick trek down to the nearest water fountain. The halls were dotted with them here and there to keep the kids hydrated during long school days, though Aeron had spied many of them carrying brightly coloured plastic bottles of water around when he watched them playing outside through his window.

Stooping low, Aeron flicked the lever on the fountain and took several deep draws from it. It tasted faintly of the chemicals used to clean it, but not so terribly that he wasn't grateful for it. There had been a time when water had been a privilege he had to earn through service to his mother; now, all he had to do was gather the strength to wander down the hall.

Perhaps he should ask for a plastic bottle, and then he wouldn't have to do even that.

Aeron must have been lost in thought, he would think later, as he didn't notice that someone had approached him until he stood up again and was almost nose-to-nose with them.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," said Alaric. He was an older man with greying hair and creases around his eyes, all testament to his mortality. As Josie and Lizzie's father and the co-head of the Armory, Aeron saw him around a fair bit. Not as much as Caroline and the twins, but sufficient to feel familiar enough to relax a little upon seeing him.

"Everything all right?" Alaric went on to ask, eyeing Aeron's forehead. He could feel the sheen of sweat cooling in the night air already.

"Yes," said Aeron, his voice cracking a little. He wiped his mouth dry with his sleeve. "Just … getting some water."

Alaric smiled and nodded. "Okay, well, make sure you get some rest tonight. I'll be down in my study for another hour or so working, so if you need me, you can just head down and come right in. I'll leave the door unlocked."

"Thank you," said Aeron. He knew how sacred Alaric's work was; the twins often spoke of how he locked himself away at night to write historical papers or plan lessons, and how they were never allowed to bother him after curfew. To be allowed access was no small thing. "I appreciate it."

Alaric's smile was difficult to make out in the dark—impossible, for someone who hadn't been born into darkness as Aeron had. "Don't mention it," said Alaric, stuffing his hands in his pockets and wandering back down the hall.

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope didn't stay in her cave for longer than a week after discovering her pregnancy. She couldn't sustain living there. Though she hadn't decided how she felt about the baby yet, if she did decide to keep it—rather than seeking out a small amount of wolfsbane, historically the she-wolf's saving grace—she'd need help to deliver. She couldn't give birth alone with no information. She didn't know how to birth a baby, let alone one with wings.

She stopped thinking about a baby with wings very quickly after that.

Making her way back toward the clearing where she'd first massacred the soldiers was Hope's best bet for finding civilisation. They'd been taking her to some sort of settlement, she hoped; all she had to do was find a river, likely the same one near the cave she'd chosen to turn in, and follow it until she found people.

Not people, she reminded herself. Fae.

Because she was in Prythian. Aeron had told her he didn't think humans were welcome there, not that he'd spent a lot of time anywhere other than in captivity.

His captors could still be alive here, Hope realised. His mother, even, if any of her followers had managed to get part of her back to Hybern. Perhaps Hybern had succeeded after all, and the continent was occupied by him. What he and Amarantha would do to Aeron's mate, not to mention his child …

Again, Hope halted her train of thought in its tracks so fast she could almost hear the screeching in her own head.

 _You're a firstborn Mikaelson witch_ , Hope told herself. _Whatever you find, you can handle. And whatever you can handle, you can kill._

Especially now that she didn't have to worry about turning for a while.

So Hope trudged on mindlessly, constantly steering herself away from any thought of the cause behind the bile in the back of her throat, the reason her clothes were loose and she was shaky on her feet.

She needed civilisation. She needed food. She needed help.

—

The clearing was empty.

This wasn't a surprise in itself; clearings were, by definition, clear of things. But Hope had been expecting to find bloated, rotting corpses or whatever was left of the fae she'd killed after the birds were finished with them.

Instead, there was nothing. Nothing but ruddy stains on the grass.

So someone had collected the bodies, then. Someone had taken the time to remove them and transport them somewhere else, to bury them, even. The fae had been sure that Hope would regret killing them, had told her as much— _Killing us won't stop what's coming for you. What will always come for you._ —and she'd been very much aware of the remaining danger.

She'd just been trying to ignore that, too.

Running a hand through her hair, Hope stepped around the cold, barren remnants of the fire-pit and continued on, nose in the air to try and scent running water.

* * *

 _Then …_

Shoes were still an unusual part of Aeron's day.

He'd been there for months, but the act of slipping on socks and lacing up shoes did not come naturally to the boy. After he'd finally accepted her offer to go jogging with him a week previously, Josie had found a pair of shoes precisely his size (a complete coincidence, of course) and had proceeded to teach him how to tie them, working at it for almost as long each day as they spent doing the actual exercise.

Aeron could do it himself by that point, but it was slow work and he often became frustrated if the knot didn't hold. Josie always waited for him, just as she was now, flipping through one of the books from the pile under his nightstand and pretending to read it so as not to make Aeron feel like he was holding her up.

He already knew that he was, of course. Shoe-tying aside, he had terrible stamina and spent most of the time walking, Josie adjusting her pace to let him keep up with her. She insisted that she didn't mind, that it only gave her better opportunity to talk (for she did so love to talk), but Aeron knew it must have bothered her to wait up for him.

Aeron finally finished tying them up and moved to his feet. Josie chucked the book onto his bed immediately.

"Right!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Let's get going."

—

They started out jogging, and Aeron coped with it fairly well. But he soon lost his breath and needed to walk, Josie adjusting accordingly and with no complaint. She herself was busy talking his ear off about some sort of gossip he found oddly fascinating, occasionally flicking a fly away from her face as they walked along the fenceline of the property.

"So basically," she continued, "we all have to pretend that it isn't weird. Which, objectively, it is, but it's also not because they've known each other for three hundred years and it's, you know, whatever."

"But she's … your aunt. And he's your brother."

"Yeah. But Auntie Beks and Marcel have been in love since before we were born, and they're not biologically related. Also, Hope's mom is married to Uncle Elijah, so, you know. We're big fans of keeping it in the family."

Aeron knew of High Fae cousins that sometimes married one another, but this dynamic was unheard of, perhaps primarily because of how loving the entire affair was. Even as Josie decried it as weird, her tone suggested a comfort and open acceptance of it.

"Your family is rather complicated, isn't it?"

"Hoo, buddy. You have no idea. I mean, you've met Mom and Dad and Klaus, and that's an … interesting situation. Dad and Klaus are friendly and all, but there's some bad blood between them in the past that apparently we're not supposed to know about but we totally do because Uncle Kol is a gossip. I heard what he did to you, by the way. Sorry about that. He's kind of a dick."

"He didn't do anyth—"

"Don't apologise for him," said Josie. "We all kinda acknowledge what he is, and so does he. He used to be worse, Klaus says. But he mellowed out when he fell in love with Aunt Davina. He also died a couple times around that period, so it might have been that that gave him some perspective. But yeah, he's kind of a douche. Wait 'til you see him and Uncle Jeremy going at it at big family dinners."

 _Uncle Jeremy_ was what the twins and Hope called Mr. Gilbert, the gym teacher and trainer. Some of the older kids trained in basic combat skills, and Mr. Gilbert oversaw those programs. Aeron had only met him once, and he was nice enough, if a little reserved. His sister, one of Caroline's good friends, brought her children to visit the Armory regularly, though Aeron had avoided interacting with any of them. There were four, and somehow they made more noise while visiting over spring break than all of the actual students did when they were there during the semester. From the greying hair of their father, Damon, Aeron guessed this noise didn't stop once they got home, either.

"It must be nice," said Aeron. "Having such a large family."

Josie stepped carefully over a snail, wrinkling her nose at it—whether in fondness or disgust, Aeron couldn't tell. "Most people think it would be a pain in the ass, but it's not. They're protective, sure, but only because they know the kinds of things we need protecting from. They make us stronger, and smarter. They've sacrificed so much to give us the lives we live, and while we don't live normal lives, per se, it's still the kind of normal that we can thrive in. I mean, my parents literally built this entire school just so there would be somewhere for Lizzie and I to be safe. Everything else—opening it up to students, Hope staying here, Mom and Klaus getting married, half the Mikaelson clan moving in—that all happened after. The heart and soul of this place is safety. It's … our family."

Aeron's family had been anything but safe for him. "Like I said—it must be nice."

"It is," replied Josie, turning toward him with a beaming smile. "I'm glad it gets to be nice for you, too."

Unsure whether she meant her family or the Armory in general, Aeron only nodded, giving a small smile.

"We should head back in," said Josie, starting the trek back toward the main building. "You should grab something quick to eat before the dining hall starts filling up. Unless you think you're ready to eat with us all."

Aeron felt a pang of guilt. "No, I don't think so. Sorry."

"Don't apologise to me," said Josie. "Apologise to yourself for robbing yourself of our company."

"I'll be sure to do that."

As they arrived at the front doors of the house, Caroline was there to greet them. She was already dressed in her workclothes—Aeron didn't think he'd ever seen her in anything other than a blouse and what Josie called a 'pencil skirt', except on spring break when she'd traded the skirt for jeans a couple days in a row. "Hey, guys," she greeted, leaning forward a dropping a kiss on Josie's flushed cheek. "I was hoping to catch you."

"I didn't break him, Mom," said Josie, sounding very put-upon.

"I know, I know." Caroline swatted at Josie's shoulder. She looked back at Aeron. "Have you had anything to eat yet, sweetheart?"

It was only early morning yet, and the kitchen hadn't been open when he and Josie left for their jog, so he shook his head.

"Well, the dining room will be full soon, so I'll grab you an apple and bring it up to your room?"

"I can get the apple," Josie offered. "She'll probably just make it taste bad."

"Hey, I am not that bad of a cook," Caroline defended. "I make eggs for Aeron every morning, and he seems fine with them."

"Aeron probably doesn't know what eggs are supposed to taste like. Wait until he tries one of Dad's omelets—he'll never go back to your dusty old eggs then."

"It's not fair to compare my eggs with Ric's Omelet Surprise! My eggs are plain, but the omelet has, like, cheese and carrot and stuff. You can't do that."

Aeron stepped back and watched mother and daughter argue, Caroline going so far as to smack Josie lightly on the shoulder while her daughter cackled.

It was nice, Aeron concluded. All of it.

"Come on, Aeron," Caroline was saying when he returned to himself. "You go to your room and I'll go fetch you the best apple you've ever tasted."

"I'll bring the sick bag," Josie contributed.

"Josette Louise, you will not," said Caroline, steering Josie inside and gesturing for Aeron to follow. "Go and take a shower before breakfast. I don't want you stinking out the dining hall."

"Yes, warden."

—

Aeron made his way back up to his room, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at a wall as he waited to hear the clack of Caroline's heels on the hallway floor. She knocked and waited for him to call out before entering, a bright green apple in one hand. Aeron had remarked on liking the sour ones all of once, and now suddenly it was the number one snack she brought him.

"Here you go, good sir," she said, tossing it to him. He fumbled but caught it, thankfully.

"Thank you," he said, mouth full of apple.

"No problem," said Caroline. She walked over to the chair by the open window, smoothing her skirt down with her hands as she perched on it. "How are you?"

"I'm good," said Aeron. "The walking is … hard, but I'm getting used to it. My legs don't hurt anymore."

"That's really good to hear," said Caroline. "And how are you doing other than that? Anything you'd like to see Keelin about?"

"Not really," said Aeron, taking another bite of his apple.

"Well, I was wondering—and you can stop me if you don't want to talking about this—but I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have a look at trying your luck with flying?"

Hand clenching around the apple, Aeron felt his fingernails start to tear into the skin. "I told you," he said, trying to remain calm. "I can't fly."

"You haven't flown," corrected Caroline. "We don't know for sure that you can't. And, if you like, we can try and look into ways to rehabilitate your wings, maybe get some functionality back."

"I never had functionality to begin with," said Aeron, voice rising in pitch. "I don't know anything about flying."

"Okay, okay," said Caroline. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything; I'm just letting you know what's on offer. If you wanted to try anything, you could let me know and I'd arrange it for you. But if you don't want to, then just don't ask me to. I won't do anything unless you've approved of it to start with."

Aeron felt himself begin to calm a little. "I can—I can try," he said. "If you really want me to."

"I don't want you to do anything except what you want to do," Caroline said. Aeron didn't really hear it.

She wanted him to fly. He was no use to anyone like this, hiding away in his room. He was built for flight, and Caroline was right; he should fly. If he couldn't fly, he might as well have been useless, carrying around … what was it Kol had called them? Ah, yes—wet shopping bags. Carrying wet shopping bags around on his back.

"I can try," said Aeron, though the thought made him sick to his stomach.

"Only if you're comfortable."

 _No._ "Of course I am."

Caroline clapped her hands together, just as her daughter had almost an hour before. "Good!" she exclaimed, moving to her feet. "I'm glad we had this chat. I'll brainstorm some ideas, and if you have any, you can bring them to me. We'll figure out a way to get you up in the air, I promise."

"Thank you," Aeron said automatically.

"Don't thank me, sweetheart," said Caroline, chuckling. "You're the one that's going to be putting in the hard work."

 _That's what I'm afraid of._

She left, the clacking of her heels echoing down the hall as she walked briskly away.

Aeron's apple fell to the floor. He wasn't hungry anymore.

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope didn't scent water, but she managed to scent something even better.

Fae.

A muttered, "Invisique," cloaked Hope, though she felt her magic stutter at the commencement of the spell. The pregnancy and her resulting weakness was beginning to have a significant impact on her magical ability, and that was a problem.

Hope stalked the fae, drinking down the scent as she tried her best to creep through the forest undetected. She dodged sticks and dry leaves, instead padding along the soft grass that sprung back up as soon as her bare feet left it; no trace of her presence could be left behind.

The fae didn't seem to know they were being stalked as they made no attempt to hasten their pace. Hope could hear steady, light footfalls and a quick heartbeat, could scent sweat and dirt before the fae came into view.

Not just fae. A child.

A child with skin the colour of old parchment and gangly limbs that were either the mark of poverty or a very recent growth spurt. She couldn't discern gender, but it hardly mattered. All she needed to do was follow them to their destination in the hopes of finding more information about where she was. It may have been difficult to stalk a grown fae, but a child wandering through the woods was easy enough.

Or so she hoped.

—

It soon became apparent that the child had no direction in mind at all. They wandered about, peering around them, hands clenched into fists by their sides. The more time passed the more they seemed agitated.

Hope had no choice but to conclude that they were lost.

But they were in search of some destination, surely. Which meant there was a settlement nearby. Which meant she could find food and water and possibly even someone selling enough wolfsbane to do what needed to be done.

Hope knew all the pros to helping the child: That anyone who cared for them would be more likely to help her if she returned them home unscathed, that they could tell her more about the landscape and the political climate, which court they were in, who the High Lord was. She knew all of these pros. She just wished they didn't matter. She wished she could have helped on instinct anyway.

She supposed she was a Mikaelson, after all.

Stepping forward, Hope slipped the cloaking spell from her like shucking off a second skin, feeling newly exposed with it gone. The fae child noted her presence immediately, whirling around with wide green eyes that took her in quickly.

"It's all right," said Hope, hands spread wide. She couldn't hear the fetus's heartbeat yet, so she hoped there was no way for the fae child to tell she was pregnant. That would make her vulnerable; a swift kick to the gut and she'd go down hard. Not that a child should know that. "I won't hurt you," she vowed. She remembered how Caroline dealt with Aeron when he first arrived, moving slowly, maintaining eye contact, establishing a connection that meant he trusted her to field any other's he came into contact with. Aeron had come to trust Caroline more than anyone, with the eventual exception of Hope. Hope just wished she knew how to replicate that process with other children.

"Who are you?" asked the child, tone fearful.

"I'm just a traveller."

"You're not dressed for travelling," the child returned, eyeing her bare, dirty feet.

"No, I suppose not," Hope said, trying to chuckle. It fell flat. She couldn't be a mother, she concluded. She was terrible at this. "I ran into some trouble on the road, and now I'm afraid I'm lost. Have been for a couple of weeks. I was wondering if you could help me get to the nearest town?"

The child shook their head. "No, I don't think so."

"Why not? I promise, I won't hurt you."

"You might be one of them," said the child.

"One of who? The … the people who came through here? The ones that died in the clearing a couple miles back?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Like I said, I've been travelling around here for a while. I really just need to find somewhere safe."

"Did you kill them?" asked the child.

Hope weighed her options carefully. The child was obviously afraid of these people; knowing that she'd successfully defeated them was bound to score her some points, surely. "Yes, I did."

Silence reigned for a moment, and the child looked torn. "I'm not travelling to the nearest town," they said. "I want to leave the Middle."

"We're in the Middle?" asked Hope. She'd assumed they were in some sort of court, and it hadn't occurred to her that she could be standing on the very ground Aeron had fled through, the pocket of land that Amarantha had occupied, turning Under the Mountain into her stronghold.

The child nodded. "I want to get to Spring."

"The Spring Court?" All Aeron had been able to tell her of that was that the High Lord, Tamlin, had killed Amarantha. "Why there?"

"I have business there," they said. "But the monsters won't let me pass."

"What monsters? Like the ones from the clearing?" She didn't know how they'd taken her from Earth, but she hadn't thought they'd be this powerful in the area, powerful enough to trap people in the Middle.

"They patrol the borders now. They're looking for the person that killed their soldiers. You, I guess."

So the land was occupied by the very same people searching for her. "Which court is the safest for humans?"

"None," said the child. "If you stick to main roads and remain visible to the gentry, you might be safe. But just because we won the war doesn't mean these lands are safe for humans."

"Won which war?"

"The one against Hybern."

So Hybern had been defeated. Then why were people still after Aeron and his mate? "Oh, of course," she said. "That one. So, if you were me, where would you go?"

"Spring," said the child. "And then on past where the Wall used to be, into the human lands. You should be safe there."

It made sense, she supposed. Get to where there were no magical beings with enhanced senses to discern that something was odd about her.

"But you're not human," they continued. "You never could've killed the soldiers if you were."

"You're a smart child," said Hope, trying to avoid the _what are you_ conversation. This wasn't Twilight. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Nix."

"It's nice to meet you, Nix. I'm H—Hermione." She could practically hear Josie's laughter from there.

Nix nodded at her, but made no move to reply.

"Tell you what," Hope began, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets. "I'll help you get to the border, and we'll see if we can find somewhere to cross on into Spring. How does that sound?"

"They're all looking for you," said Nix. They looked concerned, brows furrowing and green eyes narrowing. "We won't get past."

"They don't know how to counter my magic," said Hope. "That's how I got them in the clearing. I'm stronger than I look, and faster, and I have power." _If I can get past this pregnancy enough to use it._ "I can get us through. Will you show me the way?"

Nix considered this proposal for a moment, looking her up and down carefully. "All right," they said. "But I need to find the river first."

Inexplicably, Hope found herself resisting the urge to smile. "Are you lost?"

"Not if I can find the river," Nix countered, sounding a little offended. They turned on their heel and began marching in the direction they had been previously. "Are you coming, or not?"

"I suppose I am."

* * *

 _Then …_

There were roughly ten of the ugly metal things, all on pedestals arranged in a half-circle toward Aeron.

"They're all set to the same speed," said Caroline, standing by a switch. "I have them all hooked up to the wall and on, so all I have to do is flick this switch"—she indicated it with a finger, right at the powerpoint on the wall—"to make the fans start and stop. I won't press it unless you tell me to; if you say start, I'll start. If you say stop, I'll stop. We can rearrange the fans if you want to alter the airflow, make some higher and lower or in different places all together. And we also don't have to do this at all, if you change your mind."

He didn't want to, desperately, he didn't. But Caroline had worked so hard to reserve the training room and have it emptied of furniture and students, to set up the fans on extension cords attached to the same board so she could control them all easily from the corner. She was so hopeful that this would help, and he couldn't disappoint her.

He didn't know what would happen if he disappointed Caroline.

Nodding, Aeron braced himself. He was shirtless, having determined that a flapping shirt would only get in the way and serve to heighten his anxiety. Barefoot and only in loose pants, Aeron stood before the pedestal fans and said, "You can turn them on."

And so she did.

The air wasn't too intense to begin with. His hair was buffeted and the wind caught on the edges of his wings, lifting them up slightly. It felt like a strong wind, like when he'd walked down that tunnel with the monster and the others and he felt like he was going to be blasted back. Aeron tried to control his wings, to throw them out against the air flow but it didn't work, didn't come close to cutting the air and lifting him up. He didn't know how, didn't know what angle to get, didn't know anything. And he was angry, angry at his father for never deeming to know him, let alone teach him what to do with the wings he'd inherited, angry at his mother for never letting him touch the sky—

He must have yelled, "Stop!" because the fans cut out. Falling to the floor, Aeron felt the burn up the back of his throat before he vomited all over the waxed wood floor.

Caroline arrived at his side, close but not touching. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" she asked. "Do you need me to get Keelin to check you out."

Aeron shook his head, feeling a sheen of sweat over his brow. "I'm sorry," he said, wiping at his chin and trying to sit up.

"No, no, sweetheart, don't be sorry," said Caroline. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to fly. You don't even have to try it unless you want to."

Aeron blinked. "But you—you wanted me to do this."

A look of horror crossed Caroline's face. "No, Aeron, no. I didn't want this. I just wanted to know if you wanted it. I wasn't asking; I was offering."

Being embarrassed at his tears did nothing to slow them. "I'm sorry I misunderstood," he said. "I swear, it won't happen again."

"Please," said Caroline, resting her hand on top of his slowly, giving him plenty of time to move away, like she always did. "You don't need to be sorry. If that's how you feel, then that's how you feel, but I'm not angry with you. I think we just misunderstood each other, and that's nobody's fault. It just means that we understand each other a little better now, and we can get it right next time."

"Next time?"

"We're never doing this again unless you ask," Caroline assured him. "I just mean in general. Because there are plenty of options open to you—classes, tutoring, training, anything. And I'm not going to stop offering them to you. You just need to say 'no' if you don't want to do it. No is fine. We like that word here. Okay?"

Aeron nodded, wiping at his face with his free hand. "Okay."

"Now, let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope had thought she was good at making camp.

Watching Nix, she realised she'd been wrong.

The fae child had a fire going before Hope could offer to help. "I'm going hunting," they said. "You stay here and watch the fire."

Hope prickled a little at being told what to do, especially by a child. "What, to make sure it doesn't get lost?"

"No," said Nix. "To make sure _you_ don't get lost."

They had a fair point, if an irritating one. "And if you get lost?"

Nix shrugged. "We found the river, and I know where I am now. Stay here; the fire should keep any stray monsters away."

And then they disappeared into the brush.

Sighing, Hope settled down on the forest floor, warming her hands by the fire. It was just on dusk; she'd be able to see the moon soon. She'd tried to avoid it, even the sight of it a mockery now, but it always returned to her. God how she hated that.

Nix returned half an hour later dragging a doe behind them. It was big enough to feed them both, certainly. Hope didn't know how much fae children ate, but she imagined Nix was hungry, just from the look of them.

"You know how to skin it?"

The look Nix shot her was one that would've made Aeron proud, all derision and _Did you really just ask me that?_ Hope almost laughed at the sight of it.

"All right, so you do," said Hope. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Don't get lost," said Nix, drawing a dagger from their waist and crouching over the doe.

Hope turned away just as the blade pierced flesh, wondering just what sort of life led a child to here, kneeling in the open woods and gutting an animal.

—

However Nix had learned their skill with skinning an animal, Hope was grateful for it when she finally felt _full_ for the first time in weeks. Rabbits and berries had not been enough, especially once she'd started bringing them back up again.

"Thank you," said Hope. She may have been sitting on the forest floor eating deer with a fae child, but she hadn't forgotten the table manners drilled into her since childhood. Especially considering that Nix had done a little more than potter around in a kitchen to get her this meal. "The meat is lovely." A lie; it was basic at best, and entirely flavourless. But it was meat, and there was enough for seconds, and she was grateful for it.

Nix nodded but said nothing more.

"So," began Hope. "You saw the bodies in the clearing?"

"You speared the green one right through," Nix said, as though they had to prove themself to be telling the truth.

"Did you see who came and took them?"

Nix chewed on the meat thoughtfully, speaking with their mouth still full of it. "Same fae that patrol the border, I suppose."

"And the soldiers in Spring and … the other courts that border on the Middle"—she couldn't afford to reveal how little she knew about the Prythian landscape—"do they know that those soldiers are right near their lands?"

"I don't know," said Nix. "Never really thought about what the other courts think."

"Why not?"

"Because I've never visited, never met anyone from them. Don't have any reason to care, I suppose."

"But if they did know, do you think they would do something about it?" If she could somehow manipulate the High Lords to attack the soldiers in the Middle, if they thought that they posed a threat to their own people—well, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"I don't know," Nix repeated. "I've never met them."

"So you've lived your whole life here, in the Middle?"

"Nothing but monsters and the rabble to keep me company," Nix confirmed.

Hope didn't know much about the monsters in the Middle; Aeron had never mentioned it. He'd only ever mentioned one monster, and she hoped a child like Nix never had occasion to meet him.

"How old are you?"

Nix shrugged. "Fourteen summers that I remember, probably a few before that."

Hope was surprised to hear that; they didn't look older than thirteen or so. "What about your parents?"

Nix's eyes shuttered and they shoved the rest of the meat into their mouth. "We should get some rest," they said, wiping their hands on their pants.

Accepting the change of subject, Hope nodded and finished off her own meat, licking her fingers. There was some left over, dripping fat onto the fire from the makeshift spit she'd helped Nix had set up. "Should we dry the rest of the meat or something?" She thought she'd heard her father discussing it at some point—how they could never waste any meat when he was growing up, and they girls were ungrateful when they complained about eating all of their dinner.

"We can get more easily enough," said Nix. "I can bury the meat with the skin and innards in the morning."

That sounded like a disgusting process, but she figured it was some fae tradition to return their kills to the earth. "Well, in that case," she said, finally removing the sword from her back and resting it beside her as she settled down onto the ground, "good night."

Nix did not reply; she didn't expect them to.

* * *

 _Then …_

Some time after what Aeron had begun calling "the incident" in his head, Caroline came to him with a ring of keys in hand and an apprehensive look on her face.

"So," she began, leaning against the frame of his bedroom door, "I was wondering if you'd be interested in trying out driving."

Aeron knew what cars were—he'd been there for several months, after all. He just couldn't see how it would be a good idea to try driving one himself. With his newfound comfort with expressing the word _No_ in any situation, Aeron said, "I don't think that's such a good idea. I don't really know how."

"Oh, that's not what I meant," Caroline said apologetically. "I mean—just being in the car, while I drive. Though if you decided you wanted to try driving yourself we could try and arrange some lessons, I'm sure."

"No, I'm fine," said Aeron. "And where would we be driving to?" The outside world had none of the wards to protect him. It was a risk; he wondered if it was worth it.

"It's a surprise," said Caroline. "Nothing scary, I promise, and if you don't like it, I won't push."

Aeron sighed, running a hand through his hair. Klaus's sister, Rebekah, had come to visit and had somehow coaxed Aeron into letting her cut his hair. She reminded him of Josie enough that he didn't mind how overbearing she was about it, though he admitted to cringing a few times with the scissors were too near his neck. "I just … I haven't been out of the wards for very long," he said. "I don't know if I feel safe out there."

"Okay," said Caroline. "But you can always winnow back here if you need to. And I'll be with you the entire time, ready to protect you. You haven't seen me fight yet, but I promise I'm not half bad at it."

She was right, he knew. He could get back here in a fraction of a second now that he was allowed past the wards.

So he made up his mind.

And it wasn't that he wasn't nervous—far from it. It was more the fact that Aeron knew that he could say no, that there was no need to justify himself to anyone, that he would be respected, whatever his decision—it was the fact that Aeron could say no that lead to him saying, "Yes."

"Yes?" Caroline asked, almost as though she couldn't believe he'd said it.

"Yes, I'll come along. When do we leave?"

Obviously quelling her excitement, Caroline clasped her hands together in front of her chin. "I'll meet you downstairs in ten."

—

Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Aeron found Caroline similarly dressed and waiting for him at the front of the house. She was wearing rubber shoes—flip-flops, Josie called them—and had a bag dangling off one shoulder. The car parked on the gravel drive beeped and clicked when she pressed a button on the key ring in her hands and she loaded the back into the back row of seats, shutting the door on it.

"Oh," she said. "You can sit in the front or the back; whichever you like."

She'd be in the front for driving, Aeron knew. He'd seen people in cars in the movies he watched with the twins. "The front is fine," he said, moving to open the door. Caroline made no comment when he fumbled with the handle for a moment before managing to pull it open, nor when he shut the door too softly the first time and it didn't click closed.

"Seat belt," Caroline reminded him as she piled in on her side, inserting the key into the ignition even as she pulled her own belt across her lap.

Aeron fumbled with that, too, and Caroline ended up leaning over to help show him how to insert it into the other end the right way around. It took Aeron a moment to rearrange his wings comfortably, tucking them behind him as the belt felt like it was choking him a little at the neck. Caroline leaned over and loosened it for him, then showed him how to unclick the seat belt by pressing the red button in.

"I'd prefer it if you kept it on for the drive," she said. "But if it gets too much and you want to unclip it, I'll pull over so you can take a break. Okay?"

"Okay."

"All right—here were go."

The car roared to life, grumbling beneath Aeron like a beast's rattling breath. He gripped the armrest hard enough that his knuckles turned white.

"Say the word, and we'll stop," Caroline reminded him, and then they were off.

—

There were many things about the journey that Aeron had questions about, but somehow he couldn't quite articulate them. The driving made him anxious, to be sure, so he kept quiet and reminded himself that Caroline drove all the time, that she was a good driver, and that she wouldn't be bringing him anywhere he'd be at risk.

It was odd, how much those reminders helped.

Finally they pulled up into a carpark with only one other vehicle already in it. The nearest establishment was a large building made of white brick with a sleek glass front to it.

"We're here," Caroline announced unnecessarily, unclicking her seat belt. Aeron did the same, breathing a sigh of relief when it was gone from his chest. He got out of the car, finding his legs a little weak with relief, but nothing too major.

Fetching the bag from inside the car, Caroline slung it over one shoulder and pressed the button on her keys again to lock the car. Aeron still didn't understand how that worked, but he'd stopped questioning anything confusing in this new world some time ago.

"What is this place?"

"It's a recreational building intended for people to come and have fun," Caroline replied. "But I have hired it out for the day, so it'll just be you and me and an attendant in the front office."

"What do they do here for fun?"

"Wait and see," said Caroline, marching up the front steps and pushing open the glass door, holding it wide for Aeron to pass through before her.

They'd stepped into a clean lobby with a mini-fountain in the middle, ever trickling and for seemingly no purpose beyond decoration. A high table was stacked with plastic containers holding leaflets full of information: _ADULT SWIM CLASS WEDNESDAY AFTERNOONS AT 3PM. SIGN UP BEFORE THE END OF JUNE AND GET YOUR FIRST 2 LESSONS FREE!_ read one. _NOT READY FOR SUMMER? GET THE BODY YOU WANT WITH ONE OF OUR PERSONAL TRAINERS!_ read another.

Caroline walked up to the front desk where a woman sat behind a glass screen with slots in it, presumably for airflow and passing documents through. Why she needed that sort of protection, Aeron had no idea.

"Hi," Caroline greeted. "I'm Mrs. Mikaelson. I believe I hired out the pool for today."

"Yes, I believe you did," said the woman crisply. "How you managed to do that, I have no idea."

"I married rich," Caroline replied, speaking as though she was confiding in this woman. "It gets you all sorts of perks."

"I'll bet," said the woman. "Head on through; I'll see to it you're not disturbed."

"Thank you," Caroline chirped, then ushered for Aeron to follow her through.

The door they went through led them into a large room with white walls, a tiled floor and a large, blue pool of water. It was true that Aeron had never sat in a bath large enough to accommodate his wings, but this seemed a bit excessive.

Caroline dropped the bag to the floor, unzipping it and pulling out shorts and a shirt made of an odd, slippery material. "These are for swimming in," she said. "If you're interested, you can go into the changing room over there and get dressed. The shorts are necessary, but I didn't have time to have the shirt altered to button around your wings so it's only torn at the bottom to give you room. You don't have to wear it unless you want to."

"And I'm wearing these because …"

"I was thinking we could go for a swim."

"What—just swim? In the water?"

"It's what people do for fun," said Caroline. "Also for exercise, and competitions. But today, you and I are just having fun. But only if you want to."

"I—I don't know how to swim."

"We can stay in the end of the pool that's shallow enough for your feet to touch the bottom, if you want," said Caroline. "But I'm happy to teach you how to swim, if you're interested in that."

Aeron looked between the unnaturally blue water and the clothes in Caroline's outstretched hand. He'd come this far; he couldn't give up now.

Wordlessly, he took the clothes from Caroline and walked to the changing room she'd indicated.

—

Aeron assumed that the activity did not require shoes—they'd only weigh him down and be sodden after, he reasoned—and so, two minutes later, he reappeared at the pool dressed in the shorts and with his clothes bundled up in his arms.

Dressed in a piece made of a similar fabric to Aeron's shirt, Caroline had a plastic cap pulled over her hair and was folding her own clothes and stuffing them back into the bag she'd brought. Smiling at Aeron, she took the clothes from him and tossed them in as well.

"All right," she said, standing to her full height. "You ready for this?"

Aeron nodded.

Caroline led him to a silver ladder that led into the water, descending it first. Once she showed him how she stood with the water level only just at her waist, Aeron felt comfortable enough to clamber down himself.

Aeron had never been in so much water before. It was a strange feeling, to be able to walk through it, how it slowed his steps as Caroline led him further into the water. And at his back, at his wings …

Where it lifted them up, it felt like heaven. Like a literal weight being taken from his shoulders.

Something akin to wonder must have shown on Aeron's face, because Caroline asked, "Good, huh?" with a beaming smile.

"How did you know?" asked Aeron.

"I figured your wings hurt from keeping them folded up all the time," said Caroline. "Water is really therapeutic like that, and it helps a lot of people with muscular problems. I figured it could help your wings."

"It is," Aeron confirmed, feeling close to tears. "It really is."

"I'm glad. We can come back here pretty often, and I'm looking into having a pool installed at the Armory."

"You don't have to do that for me," said Aeron. He didn't know much about these things, but he could see how building something like this would cost time and effort.

"Klaus has more money than he could spend in a hundred lifetimes," Caroline said dismissively. "We want to do this for you. Besides, the other students can use it in swim classes and that kind of thing. But once you can show me you're competent in swimming, you can use it anytime you like."

"And if I'm not good at swimming?"

"Then someone really needs to keep an eye on you, just to make sure you don't get too deep and find yourself in trouble."

Aeron nodded. It seemed reasonable.

"I was also thinking," Caroline continued, "that maybe swimming with your wings can help you figure some stuff out about how they're structured, how to move them to go faster, how to turn using them, if you have a big enough space to practice in. Maybe if you know how the water moves around them, you can know how air will, if and when the time comes."

Aeron stopped trying to pretend he wasn't crying, because that sounded like it could actually work. He bit his lip, staring off at a high window that showed a patch of bright blue sky.

"But you don't have to do anything you don't want to," Caroline was quick to assure him, apparently misinterpreting his silence.

"No," said Aeron, looking right at her. "I want to. I want to try. If you'll help me."

"I'll always help you," Caroline vowed. She stepped sideways into the slightly deeper water. "Now—I'm guessing you've never tried floating before?"

"No."

Caroline grinned. "Well, you're in for a very relaxing treat."

* * *

 _Now …_

When it came to the woodlands, Hope was very much outmatched by Nix. She knew it, they knew it, and so neither of them made any attempt to discuss the foregone conclusion that Nix would scout ahead at the border, keeping to the trees, while Hope remained behind and tried not to vomit up breakfast.

They'd been travelling for three straight days, and Nix hadn't commented on Hope's apparent illness once. Perhaps they were just used to witnessing the ailments that came alongside poverty.

It was just on noon, nearing time for lunch—she was almost accustomed to the regular meals Nix's hunting skills brought her—and Nix hadn't returned from their trip to the border an hour ago. If they'd been caught, and she was just sitting there …

Just as Hope struggled to her feet, Nix appeared, leaping from one tree to the next and shimmying down the trunk until they were face to face with her.

"You're back," Hope stated the obvious.

"You seem relieved," said Nix. "Didn't think you cared."

"You've been feeding me for half a week. That's enough to make me care about the devil himself. Did you find anything useful?"

"There's a gap in the patrols; we should be able to slip through. But we have to move quickly."

Swallowing the bile that had crept up the back of her throat, Hope gave a smile that was more of a grimace. "Then what are we waiting for?"

—

The border was fairly inconspicuous. There was no red line, no flashing lights or patrolling guardsmen. It was quiet, one tree-line facing another across a grassy field.

"This is it?" Hope asked. "There's too much visibility in the field. Someone will see."

"I told you—there's a gap in the guard rotation," said Nix. "Besides, once we're past the halfway point, they can't pursue us unless they want to set foot on Spring Court territory."

"And there's no other crossing? One with better cover?"

"Not for miles, and not one with this kind of guard absence."

"So we have to move quickly, then," said Hope. She was tired, but not overly so; keeping some food down over the past few days had done her good. She could make the run. What was it—forty? Fifty feet to the centre? She could do that. "Do you think you can sprint?"

Nix seemed offended. "You just try and keep up."

And then they were off.

Hope dashed after them, cursing under her breath. The best way to force her out of the treeline was to run out first; they must have known she'd never let them attempt the sprint alone. She'd grown too fond of the meat and stew to let them die.

There was also the question of common decency, but she liked to think it was more about the food.

Nix shot a look back at Hope and she grinned at them as they ran. There were almost at the centre, and remained undisturbed. They passed it, nearing the other side with every step. Hope began to pant, pushing herself harder than she had in weeks.

And then they appeared.

Fae, stepping out of the treeline they were approaching, all armed to the teeth.

Nix and Hope slowed to a stop, both breathing heavily.

"Spring Court guards?" Hope asked.

Nix didn't respond, but the soldiers continued to stalk toward them. Hope whirled around to look back in the other direction, finding more soldiers emerging from behind them. They were trapped, both options for cover gone and nothing but open fields either side, fields that could never hide them.

Hope threw out a hand to touch Nix on the shoulder. "Get behind me," she ordered.

Nix didn't move.

"I can fight them," she continued, drawing her sword as she pulled Nix toward one side, clear field at her back, field which she shoved them toward. "I'll stall them; you run. Run into Spring. They won't follow you there."

"I can't," said Nix.

"You can, and you will. Don't worry about me. You have to get to Spring. You'll be safer there."

"I can't do that, Hope."

"Yes, you c—" Hope froze, turning to look at Nix behind her even as she extended her sword toward the approaching soldiers. "I never told you my name," she breathed.

For a moment, Nix seemed afraid. Afraid that she would use her blade on them.

"No, that was me, I'm afraid."

Hope turned from Nix back to face the soldiers, finding a male approaching. A male she recognised so well, though she'd never seen him. A male she only ever caught a glimpse of when the bond delivered her to her mate's nightmares.

Before her stood Aeron's monster.

* * *

 **Come and yell at me on Tumblr flo-lore-writes. Act II should be along presently!**


	3. Act II

**This act is unbeta'd as of 14/07/2017. Please forgive any mistakes. "But Flo, why are you publishing something without editing it first?" you ask. Because I'm a goddamn grown woman, that's way.**

 **Also, I have no self control.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

ACT TWO

 _Borrowing the Past_

 _Nine years ago …_

The greenhouse was large, at least three times the size of Aeron's bedroom, and filled to the brim with plants of all kinds. There was a plot of land out the back reserved for the agriculture class's vegetable garden, but the herbs and flowers grown in the greenhouse were plentiful enough that it was difficult to find somewhere to settle amongst it all that didn't involve being touched by something green and leafy.

Aeron had taken to having lunch in the greenhouse, initially at Ric's suggestion. The twins still joined him, sometimes even Hope accompanying them, though Aeron got the impression that she was in high demand. Josie called her the "queen bee" all of once before Caroline launched into a lecture about the pitfalls of the "use of mean girl logic to alienate any girls that excel, socially or otherwise", and that was the end of that.

So when, on a particularly warm Wednesday, Hope peeked her head into the greenhouse alone, Aeron was surprised. She'd never arrived alone before.

"The twins are in detention," she said instead of a greeting. "I don't know what happened, but I'll bet anything that Josie started it."

Knowing the twins, Aeron would bet anything that Lizzie finished it, too. "That's too bad," he said, feeling a little awkward. He was sat on the ground between the geraniums and chrysanthemums, enough room in the aisle for he and the twins to sit facing each other cross-legged with a single tray between them.

A single tray was all Hope had brought, overloaded with two of everything that had been on offer in the dining hall: two plates of spaghetti, one on a precarious angle to fit, two bottles of apple juice, the organic, sugarless kind that tasted like actual apples, and two ripe bananas.

Aeron helped Hope set the tray down without knocking anything over, then averted his eyes as she settled down and tucked her skirt under her legs modestly. It had taken being blinded by Josie all of once to teach him to fix his eyes somewhere else until she'd finished flapping around, so he figured it wouldn't cost him anything to extend the same courtesy to Hope. When he looked back she was settled comfortably, braided red hair falling over one shoulder and blue-green eyes bright in the sunshine streaming in through the glass walls.

"I couldn't fit the pudding cups on the tray," said Hope, "but I figured there's probably something edible in this greenhouse."

"I think it's mostly decorative." Aeron picked up a plate and balanced it on his knee while Hope broke the seals on both bottles of juice, setting his next to him for easy access. The first time he'd tried juice he hadn't been strong enough to open the lid; he supposed she still wanted to save him humiliation by just doing it herself. "All the vegetables are down in the garden."

Hope scrunched up her nose. "Ew, no thanks."

Aeron accepted the cutlery she passed him. "What's wrong with them?"

"They're been grown in the dirt and stuff, where all the bugs are."

"The things in here are grown in dirt, too."

"Less bugs, though." Hope twirled some pasta around her fork, shoving it into her mouth gracelessly.

"But … the food you usually eat. That would be grown outdoors."

"Yeah, but I don't have to see it. I see all the grasshoppers popping around the garden here, the nasty little fuckers." She winced. "Sorry."

"What for?"

Hope shrugged. "Cursing, I guess."

"I've heard worse, trust me."

"I do."

Silence reigned for a moment, Aeron lost in thoughts of curses not nearly as innocently meant as Hope's.

"So," Hope began leadingly, "I overhead Caroline talking to Dad about this last night, and I figured I'd give you a heads up."

Aeron frowned. "A what?"

"A … warning. Preparation." His anxiety must have flitted across his face, because she hastened to add, "Nothing bad, I don't think. I just … I think sometimes Caroline makes things more complicated than they need to be. Especially when you're concerned."

Aeron remained silent, chewing on his pasta as he waited for her to continue.

"She worries about you a lot, you know. I'm pretty sure you're, like, fifty percent of what she and Dad talk to each other about. How you're doing, what can be done to make things easier for you, all that. They worry about you like they worry about us, which can be kind of overwhelming, as I know from experience. So I wanted to warn you that she's probably going to make an ass of herself about my big brother, Marcel, coming to visit."

Aeron knew who Marcel was, of course. His wife had visited a month back. She'd been the one to cut his hair.

"See, Marcel is … I love him. I do. He's my brother. And I might not know a lot about you and your … circumstances, because no one fucking tells me anything—sorry—but I think he's helpful with … people in vulnerable positions. He's a good person, and a good leader, and he gives off good vibes, I guess. I'm really not explaining this well."

"Why would Caroline want to talk to me about him coming to visit?"

"Well, she mostly wants to know if you're okay with men."

Aeron paused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, you spend most of your time with Caroline and the twins, and me, I guess. You talk to Ric every now and then, and Klaus whenever you run into him. But, I don't, I guess … every real relationship you've made has been with women. Which is fine—no one's saying anything is wrong with that. It's just that I think Caroline wants to know if that's a coincidence, or if there's a reason for that. Because Marcel will probably make a beeline for you—"

"Beeline?"

"It's slang. Means to go right for something, or in your case, someone. Marcel knows about you, like everyone in our crazy extended family does, and he's a bit like Caroline, but like, if Caroline was loud and had a huge ego and an army of vampires and was also low-key the ruler of an entire city. So if there's a problem, or any reason for you not to want him around, you should let Caroline know, because she can tell him to leave you alone. He won't be happy about it, and it'll probably wound his ego because he likes to help, but it's not a huge deal. She just wants to know. But, knowing her, she'll make the whole conversation super complicated and spend ages making sure your feelings are all okay."

"I'm … confused. What are you asking me?"

"I'm not asking anything; I'm just preparing you. You know, just to make things simpler. I think you could benefit from things being a little simpler. Also, if you have any questions about Marcel, I'm probably better equipped to answer them."

Aeron looked at Hope for a moment. His interactions with her had been limited to full moon excursions and occasional lunches in the company of her sisters, and he'd never really heard her speak about her family like this, in a way that invited him to join in the conversation. And the way she'd bypassed Caroline to make things "simpler" for him … he didn't know how it made him feel, but it wasn't bad.

"Does Caroline think I can't handle new people?" he asked. "Because I'm … I'm doing a bit better. And I can try and meet more people."

"I think, after what happened with Uncle Kol, she just wants to make sure you're okay. So, if you need more information to know if you're okay or not, you can ask me. Less bullshit that way. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologise for cursing," said Aeron. "And it's … I don't know what to ask."

"Well," said Hope, setting aside her now empty plate of pasta. Somehow she'd managed to wolf it down between speaking, while Aeron's own spaghetti was only half-gone and getting colder by the second. "Is there anything you're anxious about?"

"I don't know how to answer that."

"Doesn't Caroline ask?"

"Not really. She just mostly waits for me to instigate conversations about that stuff."

"And do you?"

"I did. Once."

"And how did that go?"

"Okay, I guess."

"So why haven't you done it again?"

"I don't know," said Aeron.

"I can tell that you're lying," said Hope. "You don't have to tell me the truth, but I figure if you're not going to be honest then I might as well be."

Aeron sighed. "I just … she does enough for me already. She shouldn't have to listen to me all the time."

"Trust me, if she's not listening to you, she's thinking about you. She's kind of obsessive about making sure you're okay. But yeah, I can get not wanting to inconvenience her. But you understand that this is … literally her job. And her life. All she does is work with kids to help them grow up healthy, physically and mentally, and accept their abilities and all that. Has she talked to you about your magic?"

"Not really. We mostly just go swimming."

"Really? I didn't know that."

Aeron was surprised that she hadn't been informed, but he didn't say anything.

"But I imagine it helps with your wings," she continued.

"It does."

"So, basically, you and Caroline spend a lot of time swimming and not a lot of time talking."

"She talks plenty."

"But you don't."

"I don't have a lot to say."

"Yet again, I can tell you're lying."

"How?"

"My mom would say it's because your lips are moving, but that's just because she thinks she's funny. Really, I just know you're lying because quiet people always have the most to say. And, just so you know, you can always talk to me."

"If I can't talk to Caroline, why could I talk to you?"

"Because Caroline's an adult," Hope said obviously. "We're kids. For the next few years, at least. We can get away with shit—sorry—that we probably shouldn't. We can tell each other secrets and know that the adults don't have to know."

"Why would you keep stuff from them?"

"Nothing bad," said Hope. "Just … it's important to know that your secrets are safe. And we're the same age, living in the same place, with the same people. It makes sense that we stick together. So you can talk to me, and I won't tell anyone. I'm a big believer in the sanctity of the No Adults Allowed Treehouse."

"The what?"

"Nevermind. Just, please, know that you can trust me. Ask me anything, and I'll tell you the truth; tell me anything, and I'll keep it secret for you. You can trust me."

"I've never told someone a secret before," said Aeron. "I assumed that Caroline told everyone what I told her."

"Do you want to know who she told?"

"I guess."

"My dad, because there aren't any secrets in marriages. I think she gave Ric the cliffs notes—the summary, without many details—just because you and he interact sometimes and she figured it could help if he was aware. But she didn't tell us anything." She canted her head to the side. "You seem surprised that she respected your privacy."

"Respected isn't something I'm used to being."

"Well, you're going to have to get used to it. People are falling all over themselves to respect you now. They can't get enough of it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me? Why do all of that for me?"

Hope smirked, screwing the cap back on her juice and setting it back on the ground beside her. "Caroline gave you the whole "safety is a right, but it's my privilege to provide this right" speech, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"It's true, insofar as that she believes it. But really, my family operates on guilt."

"Guilt?"

"It's a valid currency. Vampires are killers by nature. They may have conquered their natures, but they're still all killers. They did terrible things. Caroline had her emotions off for a while before I was even born—"

"Emotions off?"

"It's something vampires can do. They flip a switch inside them and turn off their feelings. They call it the humanity switch. She had it turned off for a while, did some bad stuff. Now she's back, has her humanity and all, and she mostly operates on guilt and determination to not let her kids fall prey to any monsters like what she used to be. And don't get me started on my dad."

Aeron's chest felt tight, but not overly so. He knew what Caroline was; she'd been honest with him. This may have been new information, but it didn't change anything. He'd done terrible things, too, and she knew about that. "What about your dad?"

"People literally tried to kill me before I was born because they thought he was such a monster that his spawn could only be a demon. I'm not, and he's kept me from that life so far, but yeah, there's some heavy shit in his history. It's actually what I was named for—the hope for his redemption. He likes to say that it takes a woman to change a man's life, and the woman that changed his life turned out to be his daughter. It's sappy and weird, but true in our case. He mostly tries to atone for everything he did, and this school is how he does that. He's here to fight if anyone tries to come in, and support Caroline while she runs it. Like I said: we operate on guilt. Now come on, ask me something else."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"I told you. We've got to stick together. You've had enough complicated. Time for some simple. Ask me another question. Preferably about Marcel, since he's why we're having this conversation."

"Okay, tell me about Marcel."

"Can you answer some of my questions, too?"

Aeron blinked. "I can try."

"Okay. Are you afraid of Marcel?"

"I don't know him."

"That's not an answer."

"I … you trust him. Caroline trusts him. He's your brother. I'm not afraid, but to be honest you … coming to me like this makes me wonder if I should be."

"There's no should or shouldn't, just what is and what isn't. Are you afraid of men?"

"I thought I was the one asking questions," Aeron said before he could stop himself.

Hope blinked rapidly, looking a little stunned. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn't mean to take over."

"No, you're not. I just—it's fine. It's no problem. I wasn't … upset or anything."

"I mean, I sometimes dominate conversations—Mom says it's the Alpha in me—but I sometimes forget that not everyone is as comfortable with telling me to shut up as my family is. So, just so you know for future reference, you can tell me to shut up. It's not offensive."

"I don't want you to shut up. I can answer your questions."

"Only if you want to."

"I think I do." Caroline didn't ask a lot of direct questions, and he appreciated that, but there was something about this, sitting on the dirty floor and eating cold pasta while letting Hope run the conversation, that was vaguely comforting. He also got the impression that Hope could start jumping up and down while screaming and he'd still find that comforting.

"How about we take it in turns to ask questions?" Hope suggested, picking up her banana and peeling it open. "That way I'm kept under control."

"You don't need to be kept under control," Aeron blurted, again without thinking.

"That is not the general consensus," said Hope, and Aeron remembered the stories about her escapades, punching Louis Leroux in the face, among other things. "But thank you. So, back to my original question: Are you afraid of men?"

"I don't think so," he said in answer to her question. "I … I guess I have problems with people, in general. Is Marcel someone I should be afraid of?"

"You're a kid; Marcel will slaughter an army to keep you safe. He has a rule about people hurting kids, which is why every student that comes through the Armory knows that if you're ever in danger you run right to New Orleans, march into St. John's Infirmary bar and ask for Marcel Gerard. You'll be protected from there." She spoke with such certainty that Aeron could feel it coming off of her. "What kinds of problems do you have with people?"

"I'm not used to meeting new ones, I guess. I only ever saw my mother and—" And the monster. "I didn't meet anyone new until after my mother died." He paused, trying to think of another question to ask. "Why is it so important that I get along with Marcel?"

"It's not important that you do anything other than be comfortable," said Hope. "But, and I shouldn't be telling you this so you have to pretend you don't know about it until Caroline tells you, but we usually spend our summer break in New Orleans with Marcel. I think Caroline's wanting to test the waters a little and see if you'd be okay with that. Do you think you would be?"

"I don't know," Aeron answered honestly. "We'd be driving by car, I guess?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I mean, it's fine, but I …" He knew he could trust her not to tell anyone, but could he trust that she wouldn't think less of him? "I get anxious, sometimes, in the car. It moves a bit faster than I'm used to going."

"Do you get carsick? Like, feel like you need to vomit?"

"Kinda, yeah."

"But you don't actually puke, otherwise Caroline would know about it, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there are things you can get for that. Stuff you can eat and drink to settle your stomach, even this weird goop you can smell that's supposed to help a little. And if you feel anxious, we can do something to distract you."

"I tried reading while Caroline was driving us to the pool once," said Aeron. "It made it worse."

"We could listen to an audio book, or some music. Even just talk, if that's not too hard. You can sit next to Josie, and she'll just talk your ear off the whole way."

"You really think it won't be so bad?"

"I think that it's not so bad if it is so bad. So what if you puke in the car? We're filthy rich and we can have it cleaned in no time. And it's not like we don't all know you've got issues."

She wasn't wrong. "Okay, I think … I think the car trip would be all right. But that's not all of it."

"No, it's not. But, if you're comfortable, maybe you should talk to Marcel about that. He can tell you a little more about New Orleans. After Auntie Beks, it's his favourite topic to talk about."

"I can try and see how it goes."

"Just as long as you know that it's fine to try everything and then change your mind."

"What happens if I don't go?"

"Someone will stay here with you for that time. We might come back early to hang out with you some more. It's not the end of the world."

The way Hope spoke about it, it definitely wasn't, either way. "I can see what happens," Aeron said, and he meant it.

Hope nodded. "Good." She tossed her banana peel onto the tray and leaned back, linking her hands behind her head. "You, uh …" Hesitation looked odd on her. "You mentioned that your mother died."

"Yes, I did."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not."

Hope raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't a bad thing?" she asked. There was no judgment in her tone.

"She was … not a pleasant person."

"Did she hurt your wing?"

Phantom pain flashed through his wing, right along the scar, there and then gone. "No. That was someone else."

"Who?"

"I don't know his name. I always just called him 'the monster'."

Hope was eyeing his wing when she said, "Accurate."

Aeron hadn't told Caroline much about what happened the night he arrived. He'd glossed over a lot of details, most pertaining to the specifics of his injuries. "He didn't give me most of the scar, though," said Aeron. "That was my fault."

Hope actually rolled her eyes. "Somehow I doubt that."

"He stabbed it, pinned it to a tree. I gave myself the scar when I ripped free."

A beat passed in silence. "Is he dead?"

"Not as far as I know." Aeron saw Hope's anger, a bubbling, boiling thing that turned her pale, freckled cheeks red. He asked, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that you should tell Marcel, actually, if only because he'll probably track the bastard down and send him straight to hell."

"I don't think there's a path back to that world."

"My magical education isn't complete," said Hope. "But if it was, I'd open up some sort of portal and go kill him for you."

"That would trigger your curse."

Hope met his gaze levelly. "It would be worth it," she said, and he knew it wasn't a lie.

She would never lie to him.

* * *

 _Now …_

"You liar," Hope spat, shock making her voice shake even as she kept her blade pointed right at the monster. "You _lied_ to me."

"I'm sorry," said Nix, and they seemed genuine. Hope wasn't inclined to go with the instinct that tried to convince her of Nix's sincerity, since that was what got her here in the first place.

"Why do this? What's in it for you?"

"Dear Nix is a simple lad," said the monster, stepping forward. His hair was so light blond it was almost white, melting in with his pale skin. "All he wanted was safe passage."

Hope saw Nix flinch in her peripheral vision. " _They_ didn't have to side with you to get it," she spat. " _They_ can still come back from this."

"I have to get to Spring," said Nix. "I'm sorry, but I have to."

"You can't have thought you were friends, pet," said the monster, stepping toward her.

"Take another step and I'll run you through you sadistic bastard."

The monster grinned. "I see you know who I am. I'm sure you and dear Aeron have shared the loveliest memories of all our time together. How is his wing, by the way?" Hope's responding snarl only made him laugh. "Come, Nix," he said, outstretching a hand.

"You don't have to do this," said Hope. "You can stay behind me. I can take care of this." Her magic was welling up inside her, more and more by the second. Having an enemy to face down did wonders for her instincts, especially an enemy she'd wanted to murder for so long. Ever since that day in the greenhouse, eating spaghetti and bananas, she'd wanted to see this man dead.

"I don't want to fight," said Nix. "I have to get through the border; they can guarantee me that."

"Because they're the ones stopping you from getting through to start with."

"I'm sorry," Nix repeated. "I can't let anything stop me from going home."

Home? Hope thought they'd said they'd never left the Middle. Why was the Spring Court home? "I could've taken you home."

"No, you couldn't." Nix stepped away from her, crossing over to the monster. Tentatively, they shook the pale, outstretched hand.

"Thank you for your valuable assistance, Nix," said the monster, the picture of genteel gratitude. "We very much appreciate you returning her to us."

 _Returning her._ Like she was a stolen purse or a lost puppy, and now Nix was receiving their reward.

"I just want to pass in peace."

"And so you shall," vowed the monster. "If you travel south you shall find the border unobstructed."

Hope had to fight the urge to give an incredulous laugh. This wasn't even the Spring Court border. Perfect.

She watched Nix go, not even stopping to look back.

"Now, pet," the monster crooned. "How about you set down the blade and we have a nice, civil discussion?"

Hope widened her stance. "How about we don't?"

The monster smiled. "You're such a spirited thing," he said. "A shame, really."

He disappeared—winnowed—and was behind her before she could blink. Hope whirled, but the moment she caught a glimpse of him again he hit her right in the temple.

The world went black.

* * *

 _Then …_

It was a strange thing, to hear someone's laughter before seeing their face.

And yet that was Aeron's introduction to Marcel Gerard—laughter echoing through the hall. Josie was leading him toward the front entrance, having come to fetch him, and the chuckles came from the direction they were headed.

They rounded the corner into the main entrance, the large parlour-come-library-come-reception area, to find Hope wrapped around a man that could only be Marcel. He was still chuckling as he set her back on her feet, revealing the true disparity in their heights; Hope was practically dwarfed by him, her head only coming up to the center of his chest.

They noticed Josie and Aeron approaching and turned to see them. Josie let out a squeal and ran forward, attacking Marcel just as Hope had, her arms flung around his shoulders as he caught her with practiced hands and spun her around.

Aeron sauntered over, hands in his pockets. Hope nodded at him, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed from her brother's violent embrace.

"Hey, Josie Lou," Marcel said against Josie's hair. He set her down, finally letting his eyes fall upon Aeron. He didn't flinch at the sight of wings, didn't even look at them, just kept his gaze fixed firmly on Aeron's. "You must be Aeron. I've heard a lot about you."

Aeron nodded. "Likewise."

Marcel stepped forward, hand outstretched. Aeron hadn't shaken many hands yet—most people assumed he didn't want to be touched. It felt good to close the distance and accept Marcel's grip, firm but not overly so.

"It's nice to meet you," said Marcel.

"Likewise," Aeron replied. He had a feeling that wouldn't turn out to be a lie.

* * *

 _Now …_

Hope opened her eyes to fire and something cold slipping down her neck.

She was laid out on the hard ground, her hands bound in front of her head. Struggling to her knees, Hope squinted past the orange blaze that threatened to blind her, finding a fire ringed with stones and flanked by fae of all kinds, large and small, all armed to the teeth. There was single tent off to one side, guarded by two gigantic fae with faces covered in fur and no eyes that Hope could see.

"The bitch is awake!" someone announced, the thrill in their voice chilling. "Someone get the General."

Hope groaned, trying to struggle to her feet. A hand came down on her shoulder, pushing her back down. She reached deep inside her for the well of magic that lingered in her gut, finding nothing.

 _Damn._

The front flaps on the canvas tent burst open revealing the monster bedecked in full, gleaming armour. He grinned at the sight of her and strolled over slowly, the assembled fae soldiers watching him fascinatedly. The warm firelight made his hair look golden and his skin look alive for the briefest moment. His black eyes looked molten as it reflected the fire.

"Hello, there," he said. "I apologise for the accommodations, but I didn't want you bleeding in my tent."

So that's what the slickness on her neck was. A head wound.

"You'll be fine, of course," the monster continued.

"Coming from my abductor, that means a lot," Hope spat, tugging at her bound hands. The ropes smelled odd and had a bizarre shine about them.

The monster gave a tight-lipped smile. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. I'm Jora, the General of this force. What might your name be?"

Hope remained silent, staring right at the roaring fire as her mind raced, trying to take in her surroundings. There were at least thirty fae in total, males and females and others she couldn't identify, all armed to the teeth. She'd never fight her way out, and she had no magic to help her even if she tried.

She was helpless.

Also, she really needed to puke.

"Why kidnap me if you don't know who I am?"

"I don't need to know who you are," said Jora. "I just need to know who loves you."

Of course it was about Aeron. "You'll never get to him. I won't let you."

"I don't need Aeron," said Jora, grinning. "Not when the fates have blessed me with his seed inside of you."

 _Who even talks like that?_ It didn't matter, she supposed. As long as he was prepared to give a typical villainous monologue, she could get the information she needed. "How did you know I was pregnant?" There was no heartbeat to hear yet, not that she knew of.

"It's a matter of logic, dear," said Jora. "The spell we used to try and pull your darling Aeron back from your world wasn't tailored specifically to Aeron, but to any blood relative of Amarantha. Being pregnant with her grandchild, you were pulled through instead."

"Did Amarantha task you to do this?" If she was alive after all, if they'd succeeded in reviving her … she couldn't let herself fall into that bitch's hands. Not unless she had a blade in her own.

"Amarantha is dead, darling." So they hadn't succeeded in reviving her after all. "But yes, I am doing this for her sake."

"How?"

"You have a lot of questions, pet." Jora stalked toward her, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Aeron wasn't nearly so talkative. Not by the time his mother was done with him."

Hope didn't bother suppressing the growl that tore from her throat at that. "If I recall correctly, you did plenty to him, too." The image of Aeron bleeding out on the forest floor almost a decade ago was one that had never left her mind.

"That I did. But you don't have to worry—I won't hurt you."

"Because of the baby."

Jora smiled. "Because your child is the only blood relative of Amarantha in this world. And I need its blood to bring her back."

 _To bring her back._ Hope has assumed that Amarantha had never come after Aeron because she didn't care anymore, but Aeron had always insisted that if his mother was alive she would come for him, and never stop. Amarantha would destroy this world and every other to get Aeron back, to have her son at her feet once more. Hope would bet anything on that.

Unable to stop herself any longer, Hope vomited.

* * *

 _Then …_

Aeron felt sick to his stomach.

The journey so far had been uneventful, with the exception of Hope and Josie's music debate which Caroline solved by turning on the radio and ordering them both to be quiet.

They were travelling in the mini bus the Armory kept for excursions, their company including Caroline, who was driving ("You're such a control freak, Mom; just let someone else drive," Josie had said before being threatened with the loss of her cell phone for being "smart"), Hope in the front passenger seat, the twins in two chairs behind that, Aeron in a seat by itself near the sliding door (just in case he needed to bail out to vomit), and Keelin and Freya having paired off with either of their boys, Liam and James, to keep them from fighting with each other. Aeron hadn't spent much time with their sons—hadn't even known about them for the first month he'd been there—but they were good lads, if a little quick to bicker.

"You feeling all right?" Keelin asked. She was the closest person to him, seat arrangement-wise, and had a sick bag close at hand and an eye on his sweat-slick brow as the car hit another bump.

Aeron nodded. "Just hot."

"I'll turn the AC up in the back!" Caroline called back at them, then returned to smacking Hope's feet down off the dash. Klaus was already in New Orleans, else Aeron figured he'd be doing that himself.

Caroline must have finally gotten Hope's feet out of the way for long enough to get at the controls because frigid air blasted in, cooling the sweat on Aeron's skin. He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"We can open a window if you need it," Keelin reminded him for the dozenth time.

"I know," said Aeron, turning back to look out the window. He kept his eyes fixed on the distance, as instructed, and breathed deeply through his nose. He could do this. He could make it.

—

He did make it.

New Orleans was hot, baking in the Summer heat and so humid a person could swim through the streets. It was painted in shades of brown and beige, patches of buildings old and new, the bustle of life everywhere Aeron looked.

They drove through the Quarter, Hope narrating everything she saw for Aeron's benefit—even Liam and James chimed in with information about the best ice cream parlour, or with a story about some festival or another.

They parked in a sidestreet, piling out and following Caroline's instructions to leave their bags inside for now. Aeron kept his wings tucked in tight to try and hide them, though Caroline assured him that there was no one around (and he got the feeling that she had done something to make that happen). They walked around the back of a large building, ducking in through a door that led into a large, immaculate kitchen.

"Just this way," Caroline said, ushering Aeron on even as the rest of their company dispersed, moving through the twisting labyrinth of corridors confidently.

They finally arrived at an indoor courtyard complete with stone floors, patio furniture, and a water feature. It was fringed on almost all sides by balconies, all made of old wood with faded paint jobs. The brick walls were overgrown with ivy, but there was nothing about the scene to suggest disrepair. The place smelled crisp and clean.

"Well, hello weary travellers," greeted a deep voice, and Marcel appeared on one of the balconies, arms braced on the railing as he grinned down at them. "Welcome to New Orleans."

* * *

 **Act III due 20/07/2017. Please review!**


	4. Act III

Please forgive the gratuitous misuse of Latin. This version is pre-beta read, so any mistakes are mine.

* * *

ACT THREE

 _What Heaven Allows_

 _Nine years ago …_

Aeron's room at the compound (the affectionate name for where they were staying, which was also known colloquially as _The Abattoir_ for reasons he really didn't want to know) was at least twice the size as his room at the Armory. The bed was a four-poster with gauzy curtains around it and an army of cushions plushy enough for him to drown in. He felt that he'd been given a slightly bigger room than the rest of them, one with an attached en suite with a large shower, but he didn't want to ask. If he received confirmation of their kindness, how was he supposed to meet the resulting obligation to return it?

"And this is the last of it, poppet," said Rebekah, trotting back into the room with the largest of Aeron's suitcases trailing behind her. Caroline had packed like he was going on a trek, but Josie had assured him that she was like that for everyone, and a glance at the cumulative number of cases they had between them to load onto the bus had assured him of it. "I hope you like your room," Rebekah continued. "Marcel and I have such fun kitting out the house for everyone come summertime. We hardly get to see it otherwise."

"You don't live here?"

"Oh, no. Marcel and I live in a penthouse apartment, actually. I'm sure you'll have a chance to pop by sometime, if you're so inclined, but we spend most of the summer days here with the family when they're visiting."

Aeron still wasn't sure where he fit in that equation, but he just nodded.

Rebekah gave a close-lipped smile and patted him on the shoulder. "I hope you know that you can let Marcel and I know if you need anything while you're here. You can always pop 'round to our place for a break if the girls and Nik get too much for you. But 'Lijah will be here in a few days, and he can always keep them under control."

"They're not too much, but thank you."

Rebekah began walking out, her heels clacking on the floor as she stepped over the luggage strewn about in the doorway. "Take as long as you need to get used to it. The remote for the AC is in the nightstand, and there are fresh towels under the sink. We'll have dinner together tonight, so pop down in an hour or so for that—or earlier, if you want to see Marcel and Josie make a mess of the kitchen." She tossed one last smirk his way, adding, "And don't think I didn't notice that you need a haircut," and departing.

—-

Half an hour later, a freshly-showered Aeron made his way downstairs, following the sounds of shrieking to the kitchen where it seemed everyone else was congregated but Liam, James, Rebekah, and Hope. Marcel, who was chopping vegetables while wearing a frilly apron, waved his knife in a salute upon seeing Aeron enter. Greetings lit up the room, and Caroline pushed out the stool beside her for him to sit on, right between her and Freya, each of whom in turn had their significant other on the other side of them.

Elbow-deep in the refrigerator, Josie tossed a packet of what looked like cheese up in the air to let it land on the bench.

"Josie," sighed Caroline, Klaus's hand coming up to rub her shoulder blade.

"She'll do what she does, love," Klaus told his wife, tone resigned.

"And what's a Mikaelson kitchen without a little action?" asked Marcel, tipping the vegetables from the tray into a pan where they started popping and sizzling.

Josie cowered behind the refrigerator door to avoid getting oil on her. "How do you do that?" she asked, watching Marcel unflinchingly stir the vegetables with no concern for the hot oil raining down on him.

"It's pretty easy, actually," said Marcel. "I'm just not weak."

Josie's protest was drowned out by Klaus and Keelin's laughter.

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" Caroline asked, to which the response was a resounding, "No!"

"I wasn't asking about _me_ ," she defended. "I'm just saying that there are more people sitting down in this room than standing up and working."

Marcel snorted. "That's because you're all control freaks and I have to force feed you alcohol to get you to calm the fuck down."

Josie's cackle melted with Caroline's admonishing, "Language, please."

"Yes, _Mom_."

Josie finally made it from the refrigerator to the counter without getting burnt alive with oil, leaning over the granite and sliding a can of something over to Aeron. "Some soda for you, good sir."

"You don't have to drink it if you don't want," Caroline assured him, obviously having flashbacks to his first attempt at soda and the resulting vomit.

"He's doing fine with the crappy apple juice," Josie argued, then got distracted as she grinned and said, "Crapple juice." Only Marcel laughed at that one.

"I can try some," said Aeron.

"Josie can get you some water to mix it with," Keelin advised. "Just so you get used to it."

"Fine," Josie mock-sighed as she stomped to do just that, half-filling a glass with water from the tap before setting it in front of him. She put a hand on her hip and cocked it. "Anything else I can get you folks this evening?"

"A plate of curly fries might be nice," asked Klaus.

In what was a role reversal for the ages, Josie stared down her stepfather and said, "You'll eat the pasta we've prepared for you and you'll like it."

"Amen, sister," Marcel chimed in from the stove.

"Aunt Davina and Uncle Kol are here!" announced a voice, either Liam or James; Aeron couldn't tell which.

Caroline, Klaus, Freya, and Keelin all hopped down from their stools while Aeron remained where he was. Kol and Davina appeared in the doorway bearing two bottles of wine and what looked like a cake box.

Greetings were exchanged and awkward hugs had before their gifts were taken from them and stowed in the refrigerator. Davina introduced herself to Aeron, shaking his hand and instantly apologising for Kol's "unbelievable assholery, my _god_." Aeron just smiled and said it was fine, though something still twitched in his gut when he caught Kol's eye. He hadn't seen the man since his breakdown that day in Klaus and Caroline's room, and he hadn't fully prepared himself for the inevitability of seeing him today.

With everyone present except Hayley and Elijah, who were apparently away for the next two days on Crescent Pack business, they moved into the dining room simply because it offered the most seating for them. The wine was brought along, the cake left behind, and Davina stayed in the kitchen with Marcel while Josie attached herself to Kol and dragged him away with promises of the X-box.

Aeron sipped on his watery soda, watching the conversation unfold around him. There was something purer about them here, sitting at a table together with no responsibilities beyond their immediate family. And him, he supposed. Caroline would never drink while at the Armory, but here, surrounded by plenty of supernatural beings and in a magically warded compound, she sipped on her wine happily and kept up conversation with her sisters-in-law.

Davina reappeared bearing an empty glass that was promptly filled. She settled in a chair beside Aeron. "I've been exiled from the kitchen."

"What did you do this time?" asked Keelin.

"Criticised his technique."

"Never could take criticism, Marcellus," commented Klaus, sipping his wine.

"Not with his cooking, anyway," said Davina. "Unless it's Josh. You should see them cooking when we have a couples' night. Eddie, Kol, Hayley, Elijah, Rebekah and I just sit back and watch the performance." She seemed to notice the blank look on Aeron's face and hurried to explain, "Josh is Marcel's second-in-command, and Eddie is his husband."

"I'm surprised Elijah doesn't take over," Freya contributed.

"Oh, there are plenty of kitchen-turf wars," said Rebekah, strolling in with Lizzie in tow.

"How's the X-box going?" asked Caroline.

"Are the boys behaving?" Keelin added.

"They're fine." Rebekah chuckled. "It was Hope and Kol that got a bit intense."

Klaus sighed and drained his glass. "I'll take care of it." As he walked past the girls in the doorway he aimed a finger in Lizzie's direction and said, "Don't think I won't notice if you dip into the wine."

"Dinner's ready!" Marcel called. "Come and get it while it's hot!"

—

 _Now …_

Hope massaged her newly freed wrists as the bowl of stew was set on the ground before her. The spoon was grimy and made of bone, and the thought of putting it in her mouth made her gag.

"Eat up, bitch," said one of her jailers. "General Jora's orders that you get fed."

It was dawn and, after a day and a night with no food, Hope was desperate for some. But eating at this time would just bring it back up again.

With her shackles removed, Hope dug deep inside her for some magic, anything, but found nothing. Not a single spark. Apparently it would take longer to rebuild it after having them removed, and they were certain to be right back on as soon as she finished eating.

"And if I don't eat?" she asked. "You can't hurt me. So what will you do if I don't eat?"

"There's a little settlement of lesser fae just a few miles north of us," said Jora, strolling over in full armour. "We can't hurt you, but we can hurt them, and judging by how determined you were to protect the half-breed whelp yesterday I'm guessing you're not about to let us ransack an entire town because you have a sensitive stomach."

Hope lifted her chin to look up at him. "I'll only throw it up again."

"Then you'll eat more," Jora growled. "We're moving in an hour. Our main camp is west, but if you haven't settled something in your gut by then, we'll be headed north so you can watch them burn."

Suppressing a growl at the threat, Hope held Jora's gaze as she tossed the spoon aside and tilted the bowl to her lips. The stew wasn't half-bad, but she'd be damned if she asked for seconds.

She threw up two minutes later.

It took three tries to get it to stay down.

—

Shackles back in place, Hope was pulled along behind Jora's horse, a monstrous beast with vertebrae so sharp they broke through it's hide and bled where the saddle rested against them.

They stopped for lunch in the shadow of a mountain. Hope wondered, briefly, if this was _the_ Mountain, the one holding the cell where her mate had languished in chains for fourteen years. She didn't feel inclined to ask.

Blackmailed into taking lunch much the same way as breakfast, Hope found it a little easier to keep the plain bread and dried meat down. Jora had her sit by him, still in chains, and drink an entire canteen of water while he watched.

"So kind of you to care for me," Hope bit, spitting the last of the water on his boots.

"Good to see such gratitude," Jora returned.

"And how long can I expect this level of hospitality?"

"I imagine we'll slit your throat the moment the midwives pull your squalling babe from your cunt," Jora said disinterestedly.

Hope didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't react. "I suppose I'll have to kill you all first, then."

Jora snorted. "Like you killed the idiots I sent after you in the first place? They made the mistake of thinking you were human. I know better. Hence the nice bracelets I gifted you with."

Hope rattled her shackles together. "Yes, they are so lovely. Who might I have to thank for such fine craftsmanship?"

"Hoping that a hint of their origin might help you rid yourself of them?" Jora chewed on his bread and grinned. "They're from the Day Court. Magic inhibitors forged by the Spellcleaver's blacksmiths, designed by High Lord Helion himself. You'll never break the wards on them."

"And is the High Lord of Day aware that his creation is being used in a plot to resurrect the dead queen?"

Jora chuckled. "He'll never know. There's nothing you can do to stop this, girl. You might as well get used to it."

"You don't know who I am. You don't know where I come from. You don't know what I'm capable of."

"I could say the same, girl. But feel free to curse me to hell if that makes you feel better."

The laughter that erupted from Hope was instantaneous and she made no effort to quell it. "Oh, _pet_ ," she drawled, if only to use his favourite nickname against him. "Do you really think there's a hell to hold you? I can personally tell you that it was destroyed long ago. I was trained by the witch who did it. But never you worry: for you, for what you've done to my mate and for what you would do to my child, I will reforge a perfect hell where you will burn for all eternity."

Jora leaned forward, the cool mint of his breath washing over her face. "I look forward to slitting your throat myself."

—

 _They're from the Day Court. Magic inhibitors forged by the Spellcleaver's blacksmiths, designed by High Lord Helion himself. You'll never break the wards on them._

But any ward could be broken, as Aunt Freya had once told her. All it took was a binding agent strong enough to break through it.

She had no salt, no rocks with magical properties, nothing to imbue with power. But she didn't need it.

Lying in the dark that night, waiting for her mind to slow and sleep to come, Hope hatched a plan. A plan that hearkened back to when she was yet unborn, when her mother needed to break a spell. "I used our blood," Hayley had told her. "Our blood entwined broke the spell. Your blood saved us all."

Her blood had broken the boundary around her Aunt Rebekah's body, a boundary put in place by Papa Tunde himself. The shackles weren't magic from her realm, so it made sense that she would need some measure of magic from this realm to help her break it.

Which she had, and had had the moment the baby had settled inside her, ready to grow. Prythian magic from their father. A firstborn Mikaelson witch, a Crescent and a North American wolf, and a vampire, like their mother. Illyrian and High Fae, like their father.

This child was going to be the single most powerful thing this or any world had seen.

Drawing her wrist up to her mouth, Hope sawed at the skin with her blunt teeth until it broke, just a little at the surface. She rotated her wrist in the shackles until the blood coated all the way around.

And she felt the ward fall away. Just for a moment, and not for long enough for her to gather her strength. But long enough to know.

She was going to be unstoppable.

—

 _Then …_

The pasta was good, if a little rich for Aeron's stomach. He'd foregone cheese, and admittedly felt a little sickened at the sight of Josie drowning her pasta in it, but kept that feeling to himself.

Several conversations collided around the table: Caroline and Rebekah were discussing some clothes shops in the city, Hope and Marcel were discussing how the city had been faring since her last visit, Lizzie and Davina were talking about some complex spells, and Josie was professing her love for her pasta while devouring it.

"Do we know when the pride parade is?" Hope asked, voice raised over the hubbub.

The room quieted, and Keelin took a moment to swallow her current mouthful before saying, "The fifteenth," with her hand still covering her mouth.

"All your pride gear from last year is in one of the downstairs closets," said Marcel. "But I imagine you'll be wanting to buy more."

Caroline looked at Lizzie, who shrugged and said, "I don't care. I just want to be there."

Aeron turned to Rebekah beside him. "What are they talking about?"

"It's an annual parade to celebrate lesbians, gays, bisexuals, transgender people and more. Keelin could give you a more comprehensive list."

So it was for Lizzie, Freya, Keelin, and James, then. "What happens there?"

"Lots of stuff. You walk down the street in the main parade, participate in events, go into themed bars—probably not you, because you're underage, but you get the gist. We stick to family friendly areas mostly."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Caroline contributed. "And there is also the matter of your wings."

Aeron nodded. "No, yes, of course," he said quickly, reaching for his soda. "I wouldn't … I mean, I wouldn't presume—"

"If the lad wants to go, we'll just cordon off a street for him," said Klaus. "It's no hardship."

"It's not a pride parade if there's no one to share it with," Rebekah argued. "The crowds are a part of the experience."

"Not if they pose a danger to him, they're not."

"Okay," Caroline interrupted. "We have a week or so, and we can talk about it then. What's important is that everyone who needs to be there gets there, and that's Lizzie, James, Keelin, and Freya. The rest of us can stop by and figure things out as we go, okay? There's no pressure."

"I'll stay home," said Hope. "We can ward the balcony and Aeron and I can watch from there."

Klaus exchanged a look with Freya, who nodded her head. He turned back to Hope. "Have Freya do the spell and ensure that it's in place, and I'll allow it."

"We have time to figure it all out," Caroline added, smiling at Aeron. He forced a smile back.

Throughout the whole conversation, Marcel's gaze was fixed right on Aeron. "I think we're mostly finished here," he announced. "I'll clean up."

The table lit up with protests from all corners, but Marcel raised a hand to quell them. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess the new kid doesn't know how to pack a dishwasher yet?" Silence. "Thought so. Who better to teach him than the master?"

"He does have serious OCD," said Josie.

"I didn't know you were a medical professional capable of making such a diagnosis," snarked Lizzie, eyebrow raised.

"Ignore the children," Marcel instructed. "What do you say, Aeron?"

Aeron nodded and moved to his feet. "I can help."

"All right, people. Move on to the courtyard and take your drinks with you. My main man Aeron and I will take care of the dishes."

"Leave the big ones in the sink; the twins can get them later," Caroline said, swooping up her glass and a half-empty wine bottle and leading the charge on into the next room.

Marcel and Aeron stacked the plates and carried them to the kitchen, scraping the leftover food into the trash can. Marcel started a two-man assembly line, Aeron rinsing and Marcel stacking the dishes while narrating the process.

"So you stack like with like, that way they fit together with enough room for the water to get in and clean them. Cups and deep bowls can go on the top level; the bottom level is restricted to plates and shallow bowls, and the caddy here is for the cutlery."

Aeron nodded his understanding and kept rinsing and passing the plates to Marcel.

"So," Marcel began, "you seemed quiet at dinner."

"I'm a quiet person."

"I noticed." The corner of his mouth lifted briefly. "I just wanted to give you a chance to talk."

"About what?"

"Being out in public. You haven't done it before, have you?"

His wings twitched at his back. "I don't exactly fit in."

"And there's no way to tuck your wings away, maybe wear a trenchcoat?"

Aeron looked down at the plate in his fingers, focusing on getting it clean. He knew the dishwasher would achieve that, but he needed the task to focus on. "I'm part-High Fae. The wings are Illyrian, from my father. He was part-High Fae too. My—Amarantha said that he could make his wings disappear whenever he wanted. Said he thought she didn't even know he had wings."

"And you can't do that?"

"He never taught me. Never even visited me in my cell."

"Have you tried?"

Aeron scrubbed at a particular stain harder and harder, picking up a sponge to aid him. "Every day," he said, voice taut with exertion. "When my mother whipped my wings, when the monster stabbed them—I tried to hide them. Tried to protect them. I guess it's an Illyrian instinct to keep people away from your wings, but my mother beat self-preservation out of me a long time ago, so …"

"You could still learn. We can try and figure it out, if you want."

Aeron snorted bitterly. "If I couldn't do it to save myself pain, how could I do it now that it doesn't even matter?"

Without a plate to stack, Marcel had stilled. He shut the dishwasher, the dishes inside clanging, and stepped beside Aeron. "It does matter," he said. "It matters if you want it because it matters _what_ you want. So what if it's not likely to work? It's more likely to work if you try than it would be if you didn't even bother."

Aeron set the plate down, rubbing his wet fingers together nervously. "I—I wouldn't even know where to start."

"That's a coincidence, because neither do I. Do you want to figure it out?"

Turning, Aeron looked up to meet Marcel's gaze. "I … yeah. I want to."

Marcel grinned. "Then you'll come with me tomorrow. We'll go for a little trip." He leaned a little closer. "And, you know, if you get your wings sorted, I bet Hope'll wanna take you on a tour of the city. She loves it here, you know."

From what he'd seen, Aeron wasn't quite sure why she would. New Orleans was hot and stale and beige all over. But if she wanted to show him, he wanted to see it. "I'll see what I can do."

—

 _Now …_

All Hope needed to do to escape was bleed.

She could do that. She just needed an injury big enough to soak the shackles.

As they marched along the next day, Hope surveyed the weapons around her. Axes, broadswords, daggers, arrows—all useful, but she'd never get her hands on one, nor convince any of them to use them on her.

She'd have to fall over.

They passed through fields and forests, nothing dangerous enough to injure her if she tumbled. No sharp, jagged rocks, no broken sticks. She wondered, briefly, if the scouts up ahead were clearing hazards out of the way because they knew what she'd done the last time she'd gotten her hands on a broken stick, plunging it up in Andra's guts.

She'd find a way. She wasn't the only firstborn Mikaelson witch there; she carried another one inside of her. Two firstborn Mikaelson witches, two generations. Twice as powerful.

If she could only figure out how to free herself from her bonds and the fog that pregnancy had settled over her magic like a blanket.

She'd find a way.

—

She didn't find a way.

As they set up camp that night, Hope found herself force-fed once more and bound to a tree, the chain connected to her shackles, now behind her back, and stretching around a great, barkless cedar tree, thick enough that she had no hope of pulling the chain and sawing through it overnight. But the chain was thin and rusted, loose enough to gather a handful of it in her hands. She wrapped it around her fingers and began sawing at her skin.

It took longer and was more painful than it had been with her teeth the night before, but her fingernails were too blunt to do any damage and the chain was all she had. It took half an hour and burning shoulder muscles to break the skin, and another tense few minutes to wipe the blood around one of the shackles. As the wards slipped a little she found a spark of magic waiting, just enough to hiss, " _Secare,"_ under her breath, a cutting spell that slid along her forearm and opened two wounds.

Hope eyed the camp warily to see if anyone of them had scented her blood, but they were upwind and hunched around a roaring fire with smoke clinging to their nostrils, and she was good to go.

The wounds were minor and barely hurt amidst the adrenaline. Hope bled over the bonds, trying to guide it over the runes along the shackles. She felt warmth through the metal, then nothing as the wards fell away.

Now she just had to break free of the actual metal.

Her magic was there, but faint. She needed to gather it up, pull threads of it between her fingers, create a reserve of it to help her fight her way out and escape. Letting none of the effort show on her face, Hope set up a dam deep inside just like Aunt Freya had taught her. Magic was always coursing through a witch's body; you just had to know how to direct it where you wanted, and store it when the time came.

The time had well and truly come.

—

Hope sat there, working on her magic reserve while the camp slowly succumbed to slumber. Three guards were left on duty, none of whom paid attention to her.

Idiots.

She didn't have much magic at hand by that time, but as long as no one was awake but the three guards she figured she'd have a fighting chance.

" _Reserare_ ," she whispered, feeling the shackles fall away.

The closest guard was only three feet away, sitting on a tree stump and staring up at the stars. An axe rested at her side, slung through her belt. Her short, silver hair shone in the moonlight. It was almost a pretty sight, the kind Hope might have painted if she had the time.

She preferred the colour red these days, anyway.

Checking that the other guards were looking elsewhere, Hope dove for the guard and muttered, " _Invisique_ ," to shield herself and all she touched from view. They hit the ground on the other side of the stump, Hope's hands around the female's neck.

So much for women supporting women. Auntie Beks and Uncle Elijah would be disappointed.

Who was she kidding? They'd be ecstatic.

"Nothing personal," she said, looking down at the female's wide, amber eyes. And then she snapped her neck.

Scooping up the axe, Hope released the body. The handle was slippery in her blood-slick hands but she didn't much care as she tested it, tossing it up in the air and catching it once, twice, just to feel the weight of it. Just as the second guard, a short male with needle-sharp teeth, spotted her approaching, she let it sail.

The axe hurled through the air and handed in his skull with a _crunch_.

The third guard noticed, hand going for the blade at his back and mouth opening to call out to the others.

" _Suffocant_ ," Hope hissed, hand outstretched. The male seized up, dropping his sword as the air was stolen from his lungs.

Hope strode toward him, stepping over the prone bodies by the dying fire. "Okay, I lied," she said. "It is personal."

She tore his heart out with a single hand.

Own heart pounding, Hope dropped the organ and picked up the sword from where it had fallen, testing its weight in her hands. She liked it, she decided. It was bigger than she'd used before, certainly heavier than the fencing swords she'd used while training with Aunt Rebekah, but she was stronger now, as a wolf, and she could make it work.

Though she knew she should have run then, Hope couldn't. She couldn't just leave knowing Jora was still there, that he was breathing after all he'd done. He had to die.

Rounding the back of Jora's tent, Hope slipped under the back flap, pressing herself into the dirt to get through in spite of the ties and pegs arranged to keep it in place. She severed some with her blade to let herself through.

Covered in dirt and blood, Hope moved to her feet. Jora was asleep on a makeshift bed in the middle of the room, chest rising and falling with breath. His eyes were slightly open, but his heart rate still said he was asleep. She could only hope it wasn't a lie.

Drawing her sword up in both hands, Hope lifted it over Jora, point down and angled right at his head.

 _This is for Aeron._

She let the blade drop, arcing down with perfect precision—

And it halted mid-air, caught between Jora's palms. They grappled for a moment, blood dripping from Jora's hands and painting his chest to mock Hope with an imitation of what he might have looked like if she'd hit her mark.

" _Incendia!"_ she screamed, heating the blade until it scorched Jora's palms and he released it with a hiss, ducking to one side as it hit the bed. The spell in the metal caught the bed ablaze instantly, the light burning Hope's eyes in the darkness.

Jora was up and diving for her, a blade in his own hand.

"You won't hurt me," said Hope, pulling her blade from the fire and admiring the glowing metal. "You can't."

"I can't hurt the child. I can cut you off at the knees to stop you from causing trouble."

Hope threw herself at him, their blades meeting with a shower of sparks. "And if I lose the child as a result of the trauma?" Hope panted.

"Then we'll just have to find a way to drag your mate here. If I'm being honest, the idea does have its appeal."

Screaming, Hope swiped toward his head, missing by an inch as he spun away.

And then the yells started outside the tent.

A younger fae ducked into the tent, not batting an eye at the burning bed and cloud of smoke quickly filling it. "The Grey Guard is here," she said, then disappeared.

Jora turned to Hope. "You might want to let us protect you now."

" _Protect_ me?" Hope slashed the side of the tent open and ducked through into the open air.

What she found was bedlam.

Soldiers dressed in grey and riding enormous steeds were sweeping through the camp, slaughtering Jora's men left and right. Ordinarily that would have made them friends in Hope's book, but then one of them spotted her, keen gold eyes glinting from underneath a silver helmet, and they were riding for her.

Hope remained where she was, rooted to the spot until the last second when she ducked out of the way, slashing the tent open more to release smoke in the horse's face. It snorted, huffing the smoke away, and Hope slashed at its back legs, bringing it down. The rider landed on their feet, blade meeting Hope's moments later with the horse still writhed on the ground. She had no time to feel bad for it, fighting for her life as the rider slashed at her. All around her Jora's men were falling, and it seemed she was destined to the same fate as her opponent landed a strike at her thigh, slashing it open and sending her sprawling, hand covering the gash even as she tried to feebly lift the sword with the other.

And then she felt it.

A power that was not her own but that belonged to her all the same; a power blasting from deep in her gut, spreading like warmth right to her limbs, her fingers and toes, the roots of her hair. An awareness, a presence, something deeper than she'd ever felt before.

Something with a heartbeat.

The rider burned to ash right in front of her even as the flesh of her thigh knitted together painlessly. She was on her feet before she knew it, blood singing.

Jora's soldiers had fallen, though Jora himself was nowhere to be seen. All that remained was the riders, this Grey Guard, eight remaining and all still seated on their steeds. All fixed on her.

" _Contritio_!" she cried, and they burned, fae and horse, until there was nothing left but darkness.

—

 _Then …_

Marcel and Rebekah's loft was nice, Aeron decided. He liked the height of it, the way the glass exterior let him watch the city at a distance. The elevator ride up had been a new experience, but he was quickly becoming accustomed to new experiences.

"Rebekah's out for now," said Marcel, shucking off his jacket and throwing it over a low, leather sofa. There was an empty space in the middle of the open floor plan, equidistant to the kitchen, dining room, lounge room, and the open double doors that led to the bedroom; it was there that Marcel set two cushions across from each other. "Just you and me. Hope that's okay."

"It's fine. Probably for the best." Aeron still didn't know if he could do this, but he was certain he couldn't do it if everyone was watching.

Aeron and Marcel sat down on the cushions, two feet of space between their folded legs. "All right," Marcel began, rubbing his hands together. "If we're being completely honest, I have no idea how to do this."

"That makes two of us."

He chuckled. "But I do know a lot about the fear that comes with having things you can't control. I deal with a lot of newborn vamps, and I think I can help. How about we start with you telling me a little more about your wings?"

"What about them?"

"What do they feel like?"

"They hurt sometimes. At the end of the day if I've been holding them up all that time, but that's happening less now that my muscles are getting used to supporting them."

"But you've never been able to tuck them away before, right? So your muscles didn't hurt when you held them up back then?"

"I didn't do a lot of moving around back then. Mostly stayed in my cell. They kind of shrivelled, and I wasn't strong enough to hold them up and keep them from dragging on the ground. That took a while to master."

"So you're just used to them getting in the way, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess. The tips of them don't have much feeling anymore, so it's hard to judge when they hit stuff."

"But you can still move them? When you're in the water, you can direct yourself?"

"I'm working on it. I can't swim without my arms and legs, if that's what you're asking, but Caroline says my wings are getting better at helping me move through the water, so it's a matter of time before I can use them to swim, I guess."

"And you're happy with that progress? You think it's going well?"

"The water helps with the pain, and I'm getting better. It's nice to be there, I guess. I feel kind of bad about wasting Caroline's time with it, though."

"She's cares about you, so it's not a waste. She says you're doing really well."

Aeron felt himself flush. "I—I don't see why. I can't even turn with them yet."

"You're working hard. Rehabilitation takes time. How do you feel about your wings?"

"I mean—I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

"I … it's complicated."

"Not really. You feel how you feel. Just talk about it. No judgment."

"I don't … I don't know how to start."

"Okay, I'll start. There's a vampire in my service called Diana. Now, Di's a devout Jewish woman, only drinks blood from certain animals, and even that isn't in keeping with her religion's exact traditions. It took a long time for her to reconcile with her fangs, with what she is, with what she'd done. She hated herself, and now she keeps kosher as best she can, continues with her faith, and does what she can to help other vampires in situations like hers. It took her time to figure out how to live with herself, mostly because she hated it so much.

"I bring her up because Di had a particular kind of problem early on. Vampires drop their fangs when they scent blood and are getting ready to feed, but newborns drop their fangs often just when they're feeling any kind of intense emotion. Di dropped her fangs one day while she was upset, and she called me in a frenzy because she couldn't get them to go back in. I went over to where she was staying, and we must've spent hours there, waiting for her fangs to retract. But they wouldn't. I got her the kind of blood she wanted, she did everything she could to reconcile with her fangs, but she couldn't get rid of them. It got to the point where she just asked me to tear them out, which is the single most horrific pain a vampire can endure."

"But they retracted eventually, right?"

"Only after she stopped hating them. Only after I dropped mine, and we sat there and ate takeout and exchanged life stories and figured out that she wasn't just going to survive, she was going to thrive. She could help others as long as she learned to help herself.

"So, I guess what I'm asking you is: Do you hate your wings, Aeron?"

Aeron laughed bitterly. "Why wouldn't I? They just mark me as his son."

"Whose son?"

" _Rhysand_." Aeron spat the name like it tasted bad in his mouth. He didn't know if he'd ever said it aloud before. "Everyone hated him Under the Mountain. He was my mother's whore. He killed for her, did whatever she asked, crushed minds like they were nothing. My power, my daemati skills, my wings, it all comes from him. Why wouldn't I hate it?"

"Your wings don't belong to Rhysand, Aeron. He has his own. Those are yours. Why do you hate them?"

"Because they hurt."

"But you said they're hurting less, getting stronger. Try again."

Aeron sighed. "They get in the way. I can't do anything, or go anywhere with them hanging off of me and hitting doorways and steps."

"But we're here to find a solution to that, aren't we? If you can tuck them away, make them disappear, you don't have to bring them out again unless you want to."

"But I can't do it. I've been trying for so long, and it just doesn't work." He ran a hand over his face, moving to his feet. "Look, can we just forget about this? I've already disappointed Caroline with not being able to fly. I don't need to disappoint you, too."

"You think you disappointed Caroline when you couldn't fly? Why?"

"Because she was expecting me to. I have wings, don't I? I should be able to do that, to show her that I'm recovering and that I'm better now, that her blood worked when Keelin gave it to me when I first got here and I'm all healed up—"

Marcel got to his feet as well. "You are all healed up," he said, voice low. "Look at you! Your wing is fine; you're not bleeding; you're not bruised. But healing takes more than physical recovery, and your wings are more than just a physical attachment. They represent your father. And I think you did try, all those years, to tuck them away, but you never really _wanted_ to, did you? Because if your wings were gone, why would your father come and visit you?"

Aeron blinked through his tears, turning away. "Can we not talk about my father?"

"No, I'm afraid we're going to have to. Remember when you told me that your father kept his wings hidden because he thought no one knew he had them?"

Aeron nodded.

"And remember when you said that your mother knew he had wings because you were born with them?"

"Yeah. What are you saying?"

"If Rhysand knew that Amarantha knew about his wings, why did he keep hiding them? Why did Amarantha talk about him thinking she didn't know, if he knew he had a son with wings just the same?"

"I … I don't know. Maybe he wasn't hiding them from her, maybe—" But Amarantha had said he was. _The fool thinks I still don't know about them._ His father thought his wings were a secret, right until the end. "But that means—"

"He never knew you existed, Aeron," said Marcel. "You didn't have to keep your wings, because he was never coming to teach you. And it wasn't because you weren't worth it, but because he didn't even know."

Aeron stepped back, mind reeling. "But he was still her whore. He was still a terrible person."

"But he wasn't a terrible father, because he didn't know you were there. Your mother lied to both of you. She kept you from him, and she did that for a reason. Maybe she knew he wouldn't let her hurt you. Maybe she knew that if he knew you, if he was a part of your life, she'd never be able to do what she wanted, turn you into the weapon she wanted. You were supposed to know these things, Aeron. Your father would've taught you. Whether he was a nice person or a grade A asshole isn't for us to know, but you would have been taught. The only reason your wings are like this, the only reason you don't know a thing about them, is because of her. Amarantha. It's her fault, not yours, and she's dead now."

"They could've brought her back by now—"

"Doesn't matter. She's not here. She's not in control. You can learn whatever you want to learn. And you can learn this. I think we both know that the only reason you keep them now is because if you didn't have them, what would Caroline want with you? How would she help you then? No more swimming lessons to help you with them if you don't have any sore muscles to soothe."

Aeron sniffed, wiping at his face angrily. He did not come here to cry in front of the King of New Orleans. "Why would she? If I could get rid of them, she'd just—there'd be no reason to keep going."

"You don't just get rid of them, Aeron. You can bring them back again, right? Whenever you want. She'd still take you swimming. She'd take you anywhere you want to go. You're her ward. And take it from one Mikaelson ward to another: There is nothing they won't do for you. They're talking about hijacking pride parades—and they're straight as fuck, so that's a super grey moral area—just so you aren't in danger, Aeron.

"Caroline will take you swimming for as long as you want to go. She will help you learn to fly for as long as you care to try it. She will help you heal for as long as you're broken. Tucking your wings away doesn't change the fact that you have a lot of problems, and a lot of people ready to help you find solutions. Don't saddle yourself with this pain just because you need people to care about making it stop."

"But what if it's the only pain I know how to talk about?"

Marcel stepped forward, resting both hands on Aeron's shoulders. There was such a difference in their height that he had to hunch down to look Aeron in the eye. "Then we'll see what we can do about expanding your vocabulary. How does that sound?"

Aeron nodded. "I can try."

"Are you ready to try your wings now?"

He nodded again.

"Then come and have a seat."

* * *

Act IV due 26/07/2017.


	5. Act IV

**Apologies for the late posting, but here it is! Only edited a little, not beta read.**

* * *

ACT FOUR

 _Stranded Under Endless Sky_

 _Nine years ago …_

The car slowed to a smooth halt at the curb out the back of the compound, right alongside the minibus. It was late afternoon, the same time Marcel had been bringing Aeron back for the better part of a week now. Each time, he'd been disappointed. Each time, he'd been angry.

Not this time.

"You ready for this?" Marcel asked, flicking off his seatbelt.

Aeron mimicked him, taking a moment to disengage the lock mechanism keeping his seatbelt in place. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Getting out of the car was easier. Ironically, he felt light enough to fly as he walked along the pavement. They walked up the back steps and into the kitchen, finding it an empty mess that Marcel clucked his tongue at before forging onwards.

"Honey, we're home!" he announced, following the sound of voices and music coming from the courtyard.

"In here!" Caroline responded for no real reason, considering that they were making enough noise to broadcast their position to people on the other side of the street.

Marcel walked on ahead, arms spread wide to embrace whoever approached him first (Lizzie) as he strolled into the courtyard. The music—Elijah playing piano in the corner—had stopped, and everyone was present but James, Liam, and Rebekah, who were likely playing Xbox in the living room.

Aeron could tell the moment they each caught sight of him—or rather, the parts of him that weren't there. Josie squealed aloud, Lizzie gave a small smile, Kol and Davina crowed something he didn't understand, Freya and Keelin exchanged happy looks, Klaus nodded solemnly, Elijah and Hayley both stood from where they'd been sharing the piano stool to come over and congratulate him, and Caroline, perched on the edge of the water fountain with a glass of something in her hand, looked close to tears.

Through it all Hope sat, slumped against one of the piano legs with a sketchbook on her lap, watching him with an inscrutable look.

Caroline set down her drink and walked over, barefoot and making barely any sound. "Look at you," she breathed, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders briefly. "Turn around for me?"

Flushing a little, Aeron did as directed, hearing the whooping start up again. His back was bare where the button-up sections for his wings were loose, revealing pale skin that was completely unmarred. (He'd checked it in the mirror at Marcel's loft.)

As he came back to face her, Aeron found Caroline beaming. She slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly, and he felt her tears at his collar. "You know this doesn't change anything you don't want it to," she said, voice muffled by his shoulder. She pulled back, keeping her arms around his neck. "But I'm really proud of you."

"It was Marcel who helped me."

"It was you who did it."

Though the rest of the group seemed content to keep their distance, Josie wasn't one for boundaries. She sidled up beside them, hands in the pockets of her short, floral jumpsuit. "Look at you," she said, in an entirely different tone to her mother's. "We can go for ice cream in the middle of the night now."

"You most certainly can't," denied Caroline. She eyed Aeron. "Speaking of which, you should grab something to eat."

"Well, he has lost a lot of weight," contributed Kol, smirking.

"Yeah, wet shopping bags can get pretty heavy," Aeron shot back.

Caroline's eyebrows rocketed up to her hairline. "What's this about wet shopping bags?"

Kol flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nice one, Aeron."

In retrospect, it hadn't been great to bring up. He hoped Kol wasn't angry.

"You called his wings _wet shopping bags_?" asked Davina, horrified. "My god, you're a dick."

"What else is new?" asked Klaus.

"I honestly have no idea why I haven't killed you yet," Caroline said, matter-of-factly. "Aeron's wings are beautiful, and you don't deserve to talk about them."

Marcel cupped his hands around his mouth. "For _shame_!"

Throughout it all, Kol kept laughing. Aeron hoped he meant it.

"But really," said Caroline, turning back to him, "you should eat something. You did just lose a whole lot of weight, after all."

"Dieticians hate him," contributed Josie, receiving a pinch from Marcel.

"Actually, we had pizza just an hour ago," said Aeron.

Josie gasped in horror. " _Without_ us?"

"We were celebrating," defended Marcel.

"But what if we wanted pizza?"

"We can have it for dinner, as a whole family celebration," suggested Elijah. Aeron hadn't known the man for long, but he seemed committed to settling every family dispute possible.

"But Marcel and Aeron already ate theirs," complained Josie. "They can't get two serves of pizza in one day if we're only getting one."

"Yeah," chimed Kol. "It's unfair."

"Oh, shut up," grumped Klaus.

"So, what?" laughed Hayley. "You think Aeron and Marcel should sit there and eat nothing?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying." Aeron didn't think Josie was being serious when she said it, but it was hard to tell as she kept her face hard.

Caroline rolled her eyes. "That's ridiculous."

"That's equality, Mother." The cracks began to appear, making Josie's eyes shine and the corners of her lips quirk upwards. "Something I thought you were committed to."

"All right, that's it," said Marcel. In the blink of an eye he'd picked Josie up and tossed her over his shoulder, hands braced on her waist as he dangled her upside down across his back as though he was sheathing a broadsword. "Are you going to stop causing trouble, or should I just eat you instead?"

"Oh, that's funny," Caroline remarked sarcastically. She wasn't a fan of vampire-related jokes, as Aeron had learned watching Josie jump at every opportunity to make them.

"You know me," said Josie, voice a little strained. "If you want to shut me up, you'll have to kill me."

"I've got a better idea."

It took Josie a moment to see where he was going, but once she did she began screaming and squealing, writhing in his grip, but he didn't stop until she'd been dunked in the fountain.

As the room erupted into laughter, Aeron finally caught Hope's eye. Not only was she not laughing, but she hadn't said a word.

—

Dinner passed with little fuss.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. There was great fuss when they ran out of pepperoni pizza and Josie declared a state of emergency, but they settled the matter over Caroline's famous ice cream sundaes. She and Alaric were virtuosos at the art of picking out toppings, though Caroline complained that not having her wingman with her would "cramp her style" (Alaric had stayed back at the Armory with the staff that weren't going home for the summer).

Afterward, they set up chairs in the courtyard for more music from Elijah, whiling away the hours with wine (soda for the kids) and whatever toppings were left over. Aeron made it halfway through a cup of jello before he couldn't take any more, setting it down before he vomited the colour green all over the cobblestones.

Their evening wound down, Aeron feeling slightly weightless every time he moved without his wings at his back. By almost 10:30, Liam and James had been settled to bed, Caroline, Keelin, and Hayley were dancing to music playing through the speakers, and Freya, Elijah, and Klaus were all sipping bourbon and talking about something Aeron didn't understand. The twins were playing Xbox in the living room upstairs, and Hope had disappeared long ago. Marcel, Rebekah, Kol, and Davina had long since left.

As Aeron got to his feet and said his goodnights, Caroline caught him on his way up the stairs to give him another hug, her arms banded across his shoulders where his wings had once hung. "I'm proud of you," she said softly.

"So am I," he said, and meant it.

—

The sound of music and laughter echoed through the upper levels, following Aeron all the way to his room. Grabbing clothes from where he'd stuffed them in the drawers, he showered quickly, taking time afterward to examine the pale, unmarred stripes on his back where his wings had once been. The skin around them was pink with scars from his mother's lashings, scars that were barely even tender anymore.

He could sleep on his back tonight, with no pain at all.

Dressed in pajamas that still had button-up slits in the back (Caroline had promised to find him some normal shirts tomorrow), Aeron fished out a battered copy of the seventh Harry Potter book, preparing to curl up in bed with it. But he stopped short, book in one hand and the other fisted by his side.

Hope hadn't spoken to him since he returned. Not once.

Dropping the book onto the covers, Aeron left the room, wandering down the hall to the sound of Elijah's piano and Caroline's singing. He found himself at Hope's door, hand poised to knock.

What was he going to say? Hey, remember how I finally got my wings to vanish and everyone congratulated me but you? Remember how you didn't even talk to me?

Sighing, Aeron turned to leave—

Just as the door opened.

Hope made a noise of surprise, jumping back a little. "What are you doing here?"

Aeron flushed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I just—don't worry about it—"

Folding her arms over her chest, Hope stared him down with steely blue eyes. "I don't bite, you know," she said. "Out of everyone in this house, I'm the least likely to. You don't have to be so scared of me."

"I'm not scared. I just decided not to bother you."

"You were lurking outside my bedroom. You've officially bothered me. Come in and finish what you started." She disappeared back into her room, leaving the door hanging open.

Aeron stepped forward nervously. "I'm not sure I'm even supposed to be in here," he said.

"I just invited you in."

"But, your dad—"

"Is irrelevant. I invited you in. What are you going to do—annoy me to death?" She rolled her eyes, falling back on her bed. "Shut the door behind you."

Aeron gulped. "Why?"

"I'm guessing whatever you want to talk to me about is private, given that you're so nervous about it. So get in here and shut the door before I change my mind."

Doing as instructed, Aeron was left hovering in her room, not sure of where to put himself. It was a large space, as worn but beautiful as the rest of the place. There were doors leading onto a balcony flung wide open, the gauzy curtains floating in the breeze. Hope seemed almost out of place in plain grey pajamas, but she seemed comfortable enough to make up for it. This was her home, after all.

"Sit wherever you want," she said.

Aeron pulled a chair from the desk across from her bed, straddling it backwards so he could rest his arms and chin on the wooden back of it.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Uh, nothing important," he said, tapping his fingers against the wood. "I just—I mean, you were quiet at dinner. And before. And after. Basically since I got back."

"And?"

"And I felt like maybe you were quiet because you weren't happy."

Hope hooked her arms under her head. "What would I have to be unhappy about?"

"Well, I was thinking that … my wings are the only thing that have changed."

"Are you upset about your wings?"

"No, of course not."

Hope shot him a look, something like Be serious, now. "Then why do you think I am? Maybe you're projecting."

"I'm not projecting. You didn't talk to me once. I know we don't talk that much, but it made me feel like you were angry with me."

Groaning, Hope sat up, scooching to the end of the bed so she was closer to him. She leaned on the wrought iron frame, almost nose to nose with him. "I wasn't happy, you're right. But it's not about you. It's about how happy everyone else was."

"I don't understand."

"Your wings are a part of you. Whether they're a good part or not is up to you. I guess I didn't like seeing everyone so happy they were gone when it's not their place to decide that."

"They're not gone. I can bring them back."

"Have you tried? Or are you scared that if you bring them back you won't be able to send them away again?"

Aeron didn't know how Hope did it, getting it right every time, but it wasn't as unsettling as he thought it would be. "I guess."

"So I guess my concern is that you're chipping away pieces of yourself to fit in, and you might not get those pieces back. And if you want them gone, then by god, send them away, but … I just didn't feel like you got much of a chance to decide that before Marcel whisked you away."

"He made sure I was okay—"

"I'm sure he did. But did you tell him the truth?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Did he ever ask you about trying to get them back? Did he offer to help with that?"

"No, he didn't."

"Well, he would, just so we're clear, but I figured he hadn't. Look …" She leaned forward more, looping her arms around the bed frame. "This family is complicated. There are a lot of people with a lot of history and a lot of different needs. It worries me that maybe you'll get swallowed up in all of that. I didn't not talk to you deliberately; I just didn't want to talk about your wings. And every time I looked at you without them, and you seemed weird and uncomfortable, I couldn't imagine how I could talk about anything else. I'm sorry if I made you feel like I was mad at you. I'm not."

"I can ask Marcel to help me get them back—"

"Only if you want to. Please, don't do anything for me. I just … wanted to make sure you weren't being spoken over or anything."

"I'm not."

"Okay." Hope nodded. "And … your wings … you're happy about that?"

"I can go out in public now, as long as I cover my ears."

"Yeah, but you know you don't have to go anywhere or do anything different. It's not why Marcel helped you out. And the pride parade, it's big and loud and you totally don't have to go unless you want to."

"I want to try. I just … I've never been in a crowd before. I don't know what to expect."

"People will bump into you, but that's normal. If anyone grabs you that you don't want to, we'll stop them. You can stay next to me so we don't get separated. It's mostly about Lizzie, Aunt Keelin, Aunt Freya, and James. There's this group of trans kids that James usually goes with, and Aunt Freya and Aunt Keelin go with him. Lizzie sometimes breaks off to go with a friend somewhere, and Marcel gets pretty involved with planning and security and stuff like he does with all the parades. The rest of us are all there as allies, though I don't know about you."

"What about me?"

"I mean, Lizzie and James are pretty clear on their gender and sexual orientation because they were raised in atmosphere that encouraged them to explore that. You spent your childhood underground. No one's telling you what role you play in all this, we're just trying to make sure you can play whatever role you want to."

To be honest, Aeron hadn't really thought about it. Then again, it probably wasn't the kind of thing people thought about. They probably just felt it.

He didn't know what he felt.

"If I don't go, someone has to stay with me here, right?"

"Yeah, but it's a long event and it's not far away. We can trade off so everyone still gets to go, and there's still always someone here with you."

"I just—I don't want to be a burden."

"Well, you are," she said, and his heart stopped in his chest. "And so am I when I start fights for nothing because I'm an aggressive she-wolf. And so is Lizzie when she blows through her schoolwork and needs them to start pulling college-level work to keep her academically challenged. And so is Josie when she pranks the wrong person and starts drama. We're kids, Aeron. We're burdens. It's not our responsibility to minimise that."

But I'm not their kid, he wanted to say. "I guess that makes sense."

"And you can always just go for a little while. I can walk you back here when you've had enough."

"I don't know if I …" He flushed, feeling the heat of it on his face and the back of his neck. "I don't know if I can just say that I've had enough. I don't know how to do that without feeling like I'm disappointing someone."

"We can have a codeword for when you need to go, and I'll fake a headache or something and pretend I'm the problem. I'm totally happy to be inconvenient; it's one of life's purest joys."

Aeron couldn't help but laugh. "I guess that could work."

"What do you think the codeword should be? Something we wouldn't use in normal conversation. Pineapple? Teddy bear? Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious? No, something easier to remember."

"Silver lining," Aeron said without thinking.

"That seems a little chipper for a distress signal, but sure." She grinned. "Silver lining it is."

Aeron looked her dead in the eye. "Yeah, it is."

* * *

 _Now …_

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Hope struggled to her feet after yet another session of retching in the woods.

Travel had become a tedious process. She'd scavenged armour and weapons from whatever soldiers she hadn't scorched, finding some stores of dried meats and canteens of water untouched by flames. It wasn't much, but hopefully it would be enough.

She couldn't find Jora among the corpses. Part of her hoped he wasn't dead just yet—that way, she still had time to build him a hell like she'd promised.

She traveled back the way they'd come, finally reaching the camp ground they'd stopped at that first night. The grass was flat, the fire pit long since cold. She stopped there for the night, tying herself up in a tree to stay off the ground. Her magic was fairly steady, so she put up a boundary spell, linked it to the tree, and slept fairly easily. Or as easily as one could when ten feet up in a tree.

Come morning, she assessed her food stock, finding it alarmingly low. If she didn't find the village Jora had mentioned, she'd have to stop and hunt, and she really didn't want to do that.

After a meal of preserved meat and berries, Hope managed to stave off the vomit with a hand on her stomach and some stern words. "I know you and I aren't on very good terms yet," she said, "and I know I haven't even decided what to do here, but I think for now we need to work together. So if you could stop causing problems, I would appreciate it."

She thought the fetus listened. Hopefully.

—

The village was more of a hamlet, a cluster of streets populated with fae of various kinds. The main street was more of a market, but a deserted one at that. Hope passed a grand total of seven people as she entered, scouting out the empty stalls and occasional barren shopfront.

Pulling her hood lower over her face, Hope continued on. The armour was loose on her, the boots a little squeakier than she liked, but the nondescript black cloak she'd picked up was bulky and its hood fell over her face enough that she didn't have to worry about anyone seeing her human features. As long as she could keep up the spell to block her scent, she'd be fine.

An inn-slash-pub at the end of the road was the only destination that would have made any sense. Hope wiped her feet at the door (old habits) and ducked inside, almost choking on the smoky atmosphere.

Secondhand pipe smoke wasn't exactly good for babies, she noted absently, breezing past the thought that she had decided to care what was good for a pregnancy.

There were four customers there, all male fae at the same table with matching pipes and pints of something amber with suspicious bits in it. A single male fae stood behind the ratty bar-top, wiping down a tankard with a cloth that looked to be doing more harm than good.

Hope squared her shoulders, trying to put off an air of mystery and danger. Slipping a gloved hand into her pocket, she pulled out the bright blue leather vambrace she'd scavenged from a Grey Guard member and slammed it onto the counter.

The fae looked up, not at all alarmed. His ears were round with lobes that drooped down to his collar. His hair was a crown of sleek feathers. "What do you want?" he asked boredly.

"This sigil," said Hope, indicating the pattern carved into the leather: a seven-pointed star. "What does it mean?"

The barkeep looked at her, at the sigil, and back up again three times before bursting into outright laughter. "Girl," he said, and she saw that his teeth had multiple rows like a shark's. "You can stop hiding your scent. Everyone close enough to hear you knows that you're human now."

Since there was no use denying it, Hope dropped the glamour on her scent. "So it's common knowledge, then?" she asked, still keeping the hood over her face. She ran a hand over the pouch of coins that had been left with the armour she'd stolen. "I guess I'll take my questions—and my coins—somewhere else."

"Now, now, let's not be hasty," said the barkeep, his eyes right on the pouch. "I can answer your questions easily enough."

"Kind of you." Hope pulled a stool up, perching on it. "Who does the sigil belong to? A court?" Please don't be the Night Court. Please don't be the Night Court. Please don't be—

"Don't be daft, girl. That's not affiliated with any one court."

"Then who?"

"It belongs to a member of the Grey Guard."

"I'm aware of who wore it. I want to know who they serve." The way they'd gone for her wasn't a coincidence. The way they'd all tried to kill her had to be for a reason.

"The Grey Guard serves the High Priestesses." Aeron had told her about them—twelve women that served Prythian in all its religious ceremonies. "The blue of the leather says it's the Guard from the Summer Court."

"So the High Priestesses that live in Summer were the ones that sent the guard this belonged to."

"Would be, yes. Why do you want to know?"

Hope unbuttoned the pouch, dropping three copper coins on the countertop and tucking the vambrace away. "Thank you for your assistance."

The fae flushed a brilliant, indignant red. "This is hardly enough—"

"Then you should have asked to be paid before you spoke," Hope replied matter-of-factly. "Have a lovely day."

The barkeep attempted to reach across the counter to grab her wrist, but he didn't get far. She froze his hand mid-air, watching his fingers tremble. Behind her, the four males were still drinking and laughing, completely oblivious.

Leaning in a fraction, Hope let her hood slip back and her eyes glow gold. "If you tell anyone I was here, I'll gut you in your sleep."

The fae nodded, gulping.

She was out the door the moment she'd released him.

* * *

 _Then …_

The weight of a hat tucked over his ears was almost as uncomfortable as the crowd pressing in on him on all sides. Aeron could smell sweat, feel glitter on his skin, clumps of streamers beneath his feet making the ground uneven.

Hope's hand squeezed his, drawing his attention to her. They were wending through the crowd, most of her family members in sight somewhere nearby, but otherwise unencumbered by protective parents and aunts and uncles.

"Look up," she said. The popping of confetti cannons had stopped being alarming long ago, leaving Aeron to enjoy the confetti that spun through the air from cannons on one of the floats up ahead. The silver pieces looked like falling stars.

"Any silver lining?" asked Hope.

Aeron grinned. "Not even a cloud in sight."

"Then come on!" Hope pulled him along, ducking through the crowd and tugging Aeron after her. "Lizzie's up ahead, and we have to be there to help make sure Marcel and Uncle Kol don't drop her when they lift her up."

Laughing, Aeron let himself be led.

—

Lizzie didn't fall, mostly because Caroline intervened once Marcel and Kol started bouncing her in the air. She was delighted at all of it, smiling and laughing with more freedom than Aeron had ever seen from her. Her blonde hair was streaked with an array of colours and a rainbow flag was slung over her shoulders like a cape.

Most of their group had peeled off by late afternoon once Lizzie was off with a group of friends (Josie tagging along to be the "token straight", in her words). Aeron couldn't see James and his moms, but Liam was with their group, playing some sort of handheld device while he walked along back to the compound. Aeron had to release Hope's hand twice to pull Liam out of the way of oncoming foot traffic; Hope laughed at him each time, catching his hand in hers again.

The compound was cooler than outside, the AC having been left on while they were gone. Hope commented that it wasn't particularly good for the environment, to which Caroline responded that neither was the reek of sweat, and they devolved into banter after that.

If Klaus noticed how Hope's hand was anchored to Aeron's, he didn't show it.

Liam ducked away to play games in his room, leaving Caroline, Klaus, Aeron, and Hope in the courtyard. Hope released Aeron to go and help her father make some iced tea; when they returned with a pitcher, she made no move to pick up his hand again.

Perhaps he shouldn't have been keeping track of it quite so much, but he really couldn't help it.

"So, Aeron," said Klaus. "How was your first pride parade?"

Hope waved a dismissive hand. "I took care of him."

"I wasn't asking you, Hope."

"Yeah, but he doesn't have to talk about it unless he wants—"

"It's okay," said Aeron. "I'm fine. It was all … fine."

"Good!" chirped Caroline, eyeing Hope and Klaus. "I hope you guys had fun. Dinner should be quieter tonight without Freya and Keelin, so I was thinking maybe make your own pizzas?"

"Sounds good, love," said Klaus. "What time are we picking up James?"

"Freya said she and Keelin are meeting up with Josh and Eddie at the bar at seven, so some time before that. Six-thirty, I guess? We can always ask Marcel to grab him and bring him here if we're busy."

Klaus shook his head. "Marcel won't be sober enough to drive from wherever he ends up." Spoken like a man that knew his own son. "I can do it; I was just wondering."

Caroline smiled at him fondly. "You can go paint if you want. I know you're dying to get to it before you forget whatever images you've saved in your head from today."

"I can just do a preliminary sketch and save the painting for later," he said. "I'll get the lad."

"You know he'll want to talk your ear off the entire way home, right?"

"He's had a good day. I want to hear about it."

"And anything's better than listening to Josie talk about memes," contributed Hope.

"True," Caroline and Klaus chimed. They exchanged a look and dissolved into laughter.

Beside him, Hope rolled her eyes and groaned. "It really wasn't that funny," she said. She caught Aeron's eye. "Parents, am I right?"

He returned her grin without comment.

* * *

 _Now …_

The temple had a single entrance. It was a great, sandstone structure, soft at the corners where the wind had whittled away the sharp edges. The seven-pointed star was carved into the great blue doors just as it was in the leather vambrace in Hope's cloak pocket. The sun baking down from above made the air between Hope and the temple shimmer, making it look almost like a mirage.

She kept her distance all through the day, scoping it out, climbing trees to get better vantage points by which to see the high windows set in the ceiling. It was a modestly-sized building, and not quite what she'd been expecting. Though there were only twelve Priestesses, apparently, so there'd only be one or two here if they were all distributed throughout Prythian.

No one left or arrived; the stables by the back of the temple stood empty, presumably because the Grey Guard assigned to this temple had taken all the horses with them to attack Jora.

To attack her.

Stupid of them, to leave no one behind. No one to guard the Priestesses.

Perhaps they thought their place here in the Summer Court was a sure thing, a safety unparalleled, because who would attack them in their sacred place while they languished under the protection of this court and its High Lord?

Hope would.

—

She waited until nightfall.

The sun dipped low but the heat barely changed, staying muggy long past twilight. The stars poked out, the nearly full moon almost solid enough to reach out and touch, to cup in her palm the very thing that had haunted her people for centuries. Hope resisted the temptation to try and instead remained in a large sycamore, the closest tree to the temple.

Of the weapons she had scavenged, the only useful ones were the daggers strapped to her thighs and the blade at her back. The axe she'd found next to a half-charred corpse had been a nice thought, but she hadn't managed to locate a belt with an attachment to loop it through, and she didn't know how to tuck it through the belt she wore currently without it digging into her belly. There was something intimately discomforting about having the kiss of steel against her stomach, so she'd had to leave it behind.

Hope had spent the hours crouched in the tree, listening closely, identifying at least four separate voices inside. She hoped there were no more than that; she didn't know if the baby's magic would help her devastate another battlefield, and she certainly wasn't going to rely on that. Four would be more than enough to tackle, especially if some of them were High Priestesses themselves.

As the last fingers of daylight released their hold on the horizon, Hope struck.

Summoning all strength and speed she'd earned when she activated her curse, Hope leapt from the tree, landing on the edge of the temple roof. She teetered for a moment, uncomfortable in her poorly-fitted boots, but righted herself. The windows were more like skylights, set into the roof on a slope. She crouched alongside one, peering down.

Inside was a decently-sized hall complete with an altar on one end and a large oak table at the other. Twelve chairs were tucked under the table, presumably for each of the High Priestesses if they should choose to congregate there. A seven-pointed star was carved onto both the altar and the table as well as woven into a tapestry that hung on the wall just behind the altar.

The room was empty.

Predictably, there was no latch on the window, so Hope pulled a dagger from its sheath on her thigh and dug it into the sandstone the encased the window's metal frame. It was hard work, but she managed to loosen enough of it on one side to get her fingers underneath, lifting the window, glass and frame and all, clean off. Loose chunks of stone fell through the open space and onto the tiled floor, but the room was otherwise undisturbed.

Setting the window aside, Hope stood, looking down into the room and sharpening her senses.

She could hear five heartbeats, actually, aside from her own (and the baby's). All came from one side of the structure, accompanied by voices and the clanging of what sounded like cutlery on china.

Apparently, it was dinner time.

Sheathing the dagger, Hope leaned forward, stepping through the opening and catching herself on one of the beams. She released her grip, free-falling for a moment before landing deftly on her feet. She froze, listening intently, but detected no change in the heart rates or tones coming from the kitchen.

Keeping the glamour on her scent firmly in place, Hope crept around the space, examining her surroundings. A pitcher of sacrificial wine sat at the base of the altar; she dipped a finger in and sucked it, wrinkling her nose.

Unsheathing her daggers once more, Hope crept forward, wincing at each creak of her leather armour. She spun the blades around her fingers a few times, checked their weight in her palms. They were well-made, she'd give the Grey Guard that.

The door off the side of the main chamber led to a long corridor, a corridor that apparently ended in the kitchen, as the slightly ajar door there was where the voices were emanating from. Hope estimated that she could get three feet away without being detected.

She'd have to make that work.

A dagger in each hand, Hope crept down the hall, making it to the three feet mark.

Then, she dove.

It took her moments after kicking the door open to get the lay of the land—the small dining table with four female High Fae congregated at it, the kitchen with a male lesser fae crouched over a pot of something steaming. In the moment it took them to register her presence, she'd sprung, reaching for the nearest fae, gripping her by the hair, and slitting her throat over her soup.

The tallest of the four remaining, a female with dark hair and pinched cheeks, threw out a hand toward Hope, a hand accompanied with a gust of wind that blew Hope back into the now closed door. One of the other females swiped out at her but she caught her hand with her dagger, spearing it right through the palm and twisting the blade until the fae was doubled over and protecting Hope from any magic the powerful High Fae intended on sending her way.

Panting, Hope struggled to her feet, keeping the fae in front of her. The male kitchen hand was brandishing a shining knife, but the two remaining High Fae, both dressed in fine robes, had only their magic, crackling through the air.

"Who are you?" asked the one that hadn't attacked; she'd stood calmly, watching the first bleed out over her meal with pale blue eyes. Her raised eyebrows contorted the seven-pointed star tattooed on her forehead.

"You know who I am," seethed Hope. "You sent your Grey Guard to kill me."

"And yet you seem remarkably undead," said the dark-haired one, her silver eyes coolly raking over Hope.

"That's a common theme in my family," Hope spat. The fae in her arms whimpered, and she noted the difference between her attire and the High Fae across from them; where the other females were dressed finely in robes, this girl, much like the first Hope had killed, was dressed in plain white linen. Perhaps she was a servant of some sort. "Now, you're going to answer my questions, or I swear I'll gut your little servant girl right here."

"Ara is an acolyte," said the one with the star tattoo. "It is her sworn duty to defend us with her life."

"When I'm done gutting her, I'll come for you. I roasted your guards alive, so don't think you can stop me."

"I'm afraid that's just what we have to do, dearest," said the dark-haired one, stepping forward. "That spawn of yours cannot live, not when Jora would use it to bring back that monster."

She really should've known this was about that.

"But you already knew that," said the tattooed one, apparently reading Hope's mind. "Otherwise you wouldn't have tracked us down. You intend to kill us no matter what we say."

"You do intend to kill my firstborn."

"Yes, dear," said the dark-haired one. "Just your firstborn. You may live, if you like. We are not without mercy. Only the child has the power to resurrect Amarantha. We have tonics that can eliminate it, and once that has happened you will be free to leave."

"You didn't respect my life when you sent soldiers to come and kill me."

"A regrettable error, but one we hope you can forgive us for. Amarantha destroyed this world during her reign; if she is allowed to return, so many would suffer and die at her hand. We had to make a calculation, and it did not end up in your favour. But there's still time. Release Ara, and we can talk."

Was she really considering this? she wondered. She was desperate to get back to Aeron, and she couldn't do that if she was busy being hunted. "I already killed that one," said Hope, nodding at the dead acolyte. "What's the price for that?"

"No price, child," said the marked one, her tattoo still creased with a frown. "We are a benevolent force in Prythian. All we want is to see our people safe. Your child is a threat; let us prevent that threat and free you from this fight. It is not yours to begin with."

It was tempting, she had to admit. On one hand, she could go through with something she'd already been considering and subsequently be able to pursue a way back to Aeron. The only other option was keeping the baby and fighting for both of their lives.

She so desperately wanted to see Aeron again. They could have more children, even. They'd agreed to start trying some months ago, and she'd be lying if the thought of giving up all hope for this child didn't sting, but given the choice between that and countless more children, all raised alongside her mate …

But as long as there was a way between this world and her own, her children would be a threat to these people. Aeron would be a threat.

This would never end. Not unless she ended it now.

"What would getting rid of the child entail?" she asked, stalling for time. The kitchen hand had lowered his knife a little, still looking between the High Priestesses and Hope nervously. No one was looking at the dead acolyte.

"Only a tonic and a night of discomfort," assured the dark-haired fae. "We'll take good care of you for its duration, and send you well on your way afterward."

"How do I know you won't just kill me too?"

"We don't want any more death than necessary, child. Taking the baby this soon doesn't just mean life for you, but for everyone else that would die at Amarantha's hand."

Hope made a show of loosening her grip on Ara, letting go of the handle of the blade still buried in the girl's palm. She dropped the other dagger to the ground with a clatter. "All right. I'll do it."

The High Priestesses exchanged a pleased look. "Naia will take Ara and get her cleaned up," said the dark-haired one, gesturing toward the kitchen hand.

As Ara stepped forward, Hope struck.

Shoving Ara toward the tattooed fae with all her strength she sent them both careening into the wall with a crack. A twist of her hand was all it took to liquefy the kitchen hand's brain when he rushed her, but the dark-haired Priestess was powerful and Hope's spells wouldn't penetrate her shields.

The other Priestess rushed up behind her. Hope spun, ducking out of the way and unsheathing the broadsword in the same movement, arcing back around and beheading the Priestess with ease.

The dark-haired Priestess screamed, her magic washing over Hope like a wave, icy wind that clawed at her face, simultaneously drying her eyes and making them water. The sword clattered from her hand and she was propelled backwards, crashing through the flimsy wooden door and into the corridor.

The female advanced toward her, dark brown eyes alight with rage as she continued pushing Hope down the corridor. Screaming, Hope fought back, but to no avail. Inside her, her own heartbeat thundered at the same rate as the tiny, softer one that came from her belly.

As the fae propelled Hope back into the main chamber, she tried to grip onto the doorframe but it splintered under her grip, pieces flying as she flew backwards and hit the side of the altar.

"You know," began the fae, "we really would have helped you."

The wind continued, keeping Hope pinned against the side of the altar. Every spell she tried throw at the fae failed, bouncing off her shields. Magic wouldn't pierce them.

But was that the only thing?

Tearing off her glove, Hope propelled it high in the air with magic until it was above the wind blowing from the fae, then watched it float down right by her.

Good to know.

The fae laughed. "A glove. How terrifying."

"I know, right?" Hope grit out. She spun in place, leg out, and kicked the pitcher of wine. It sailed through the air behind her, aided by the fae's magic, and hit high up on the tapestry, staining the seven-pointed star like blood. "Incendia!" she screamed, and the wine-soaked tapestry lit up immediately. A second, "Festucam!" had the pole the tapestry was suspended from shattering, and then the tapestry was sailing over their heads. She released it from her magic as it sailed past the fae's wards, and the Priestess had to duck out of the way, her magic ceasing as she dodged the wall of fire that hit the floor where she'd been standing.

"Prae delore!" shrieked Hope, watching the High Priestess's body seize with pain, muscles taut and eyes bulging. Standing, Hope stumbled over to the female with numb legs, kicking her toward the flaming tapestry. The Priestess struggled against the spell, but Hope didn't relent until she was inches from the fire, at which point she leaned in toward her. "Who else knows about the baby?"

The Priestess grinned through the pain, saying nothing. Hope had just begun to repeat herself when the fae flung herself onto the fire.

The scream was unlike anything Hope had ever heard. She fell back, right on her haunches, watching the writhing mass of flames in horror. She would've done it, would've pushed the fae into the fire, but she hadn't anticipated what the scent of burning flesh would be like in her nostrils, how the screams would echo in the chamber and out into the night through the windowless gap in the ceiling.

Turning away, Hope tried to block out the screaming, to center herself and gather her magic. When she opened her eyes, the screaming was over, and the room as eerily silent. Just as she turned to leave, something caught her eye.

The gap where the tapestry had been was paler than the rest of the walls. It bore the same sigil as the tapestry. But why cover it up with a tapestry of the same design?

Come to think of it, it did look different.

Fishing the vambrace out of her coat pocket, Hope held it up alongside the symbol on the wall. Sure enough, they were different: where the vambrace had seven points on its star, one for each court, the mark carved into the wall had eight.

What was the eighth point for?

Though she wanted to linger, there was still one more heartbeat she had to take care of. A heartbeat that was becoming fainter and fainter, escaping by the front door.

Hope sprinted down the corridor, her feet barely touching the ground. She had barely any time to get the acolyte before she disappeared, no time to scoop up weapons or gather herself. She leant down as she passed through the kitchen, grasping something heavy with her hands as she went through, then ducked into the parlour and, finally, out the large double doors and into the night.

The acolyte was almost at the treeline.

Hefting whatever was in her hand, Hope pulled her arm back and lobbed it across the field. It hit the acolyte right on the back of the head, knocking her down for long enough for Hope to almost catch up to her.

The acolyte rolled over, grabbing the projectile in her hands and preparing to throw it back.

They both realised what it was at the same moment.

The tattooed Priestess's head.

Screaming, the acolyte tossed it aside, crawling backwards and away from Hope on her elbows. The dagger was still embedded in her hand and she grasped it, trying to free it—but to no avail.

Hope reached her finally, kicking the head aside and dropping to one knee on the girl's chest. She looked to be at least fully grown, by fae standards, but who knew how old she was really. Not that it mattered. She wasn't innocent, none of them were; they'd tried to kill her, to kill her baby. "Who else knows about me and the baby?" she asked, hoping against all hope that this fae wasn't willing to die before answering Hope's questions.

"You can't kill us all," said the acolyte. "You got lucky tonight—"

"I'm a firstborn Mikaelson witch; luck has nothing to do with it. Now tell me: who else knows?"

The acolyte struggled, her injured hand twitching. "No one, I swear."

"Liar. There were six seats at the table in the kitchen and there were only five of you there. I assume the Grey Guard eat somewhere else when they're here, as they wouldn't all fit in the sixth chair. So who does it belong to? Another Priestess? A servant?" She took in the stubborn set of the girl's jaw. "An acolyte?"

"It's too late; you'll never catch her."

"Tell me where she's going."

The acolyte laughed. "You'll never catch her in time to stop her from spreading the news. Soon, everyone will know."

"Where—is—she—going?"

The acolyte's grin was bright in the moonlight. "The Night Court."

She died moments later.

* * *

 **And there we go! Stay tuned for Vol. 3 (featuring some special guests!).**


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